Paradise Lost
by Soicalyx
Summary: AU. A walk home in the rain and a chance meeting. He came to her in the dark as a savior, only to reveal himself a twisted man. Erik's face may be perfect, but his soul is not so fortunate. Please read and review, but be kind! It's my first fic
1. No One Can Save You Now

Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction, so thanks for reading! Hope you'll review and help me progress, too.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera books or musical. If I did, the endings would be quite different ;).

The rain beat heavily on Erik's black trench coat, but he hardly felt it. He was returning to his apartment after a full day of classes. He held the grip of his violin case tightly. _Music theory's too easy_, he thought to himself, _the professor's never composed an original piece of work in his life._ He lifted his free hand to smooth the long black hair that was matting across his face because of the rain. It was perfect (a/n: his deformities are more inside that out).

It was dark, and Erik regretted that he had decided to walk rather than take his car. He trudged on, the streetlights flickering on and off as he went. It was downtown, and it was dark. The people who walked here were either part of the dark city's nightlife or cops. To be anything else and be here after the sun went down was reckless, and Erik knew this. His hand went into the trench coat pocket, and he felt reassured after feeling its weight.

He was about to pass an alley when he heard a thud, and a suppressed cry. His eyes peered into the darkness, and he could see two figures clamoring over something. He heard a whimper._ A girl._ He watched as they advanced on her, unconsciously walking towards them. Without a real desire, he was involving himself. The assailants were smug, sure that the girl wouldn't put up any resistance.

"You're a sweet girl, aren't you?" One of them, the taller one, chuckled.

"A real doll." Purred the other. "You won't make any trouble, will you darling'?"

Erik was tempted to leave. The girl was so meek, letting them do as they pleased. _She doesn't care, so why should I?_ He turned to leave when her voice reached his ears.

"Please," she called out, "help me." In the darkness, she saw his silhouette. Her eyes sought his, and he turned. He couldn't see her well, but she was looking at him like he was some savior. He pulled his weapon from his pocket.

"Oh, fuck it," he sighed. He dropped his violin case gently and watched as the two guys turned.

"Hey, what do you want?" The tall one said. He tapped the other's shoulder. "Get rid of him, Joe." The other, Joe, nodded and pulled something out of his pocket. A knife. _How dull_, Erik thought. He called out to Joe as he came close.

"Your hand at the level of your eyes." Erik moved to meet Joe. The assailant laughed, blade flashing lightly in the darkness.

"What's that mean?" Joe asked, and Erik said nothing. He turned back to his friend. "Hey, Ben, this guy's-" He couldn't finish, as Erik slipped the thin wire past the man's head and tightened it. Erik swept Joe into the darkness and as he dropped the knife and choked for breath, Erik moved his lips to whisper into Joe's ear.

"Nothing can save you now." Erik could feel his motions slowing, Joe's body giving up. "No one can save you-"

"No!" The girl cried out in the darkness. Erik slacked his hold as he turned to see her. He still wasn't close enough to make out features in the dark, but he could tell she was being held tight to the other man and was crying out to him, her free hand reached out to him instead of grasping to free herself. "Please, you're killing him!"

_Except, perhaps, her._ Erik wondered at her stupidity, hearing her tearful plea, but he released the man, letting his body slump to the ground unconsciously. He looked at the other man. "A deal. Let her go and take your friend, or I'll kill him." He kicked Joe in the side, and the man let out a groan. Erik stared down the tall man. "What will it be?"

The rain and his own heartbeat were the only things Erik could hear as the other man flung the girl down and ran out of the alley without his friend. Erik smirked. _A real pal._ He heard her stand, and she walked slowly towards him. He could see her better now. She was petite, with long, curly brown hair that shone even in the dark. She wore a light-colored dress, and her pale skin made her dark eyes stand out. Erik's heart continued its heavy beating as she came closer. _She's..._. She stopped, however, close to Joe. She reached down with her hand, then thought better on it and withdrew it fearfully. She looked up to Erik.

"Is he- did you..." She looked up at him with pleading eyes, and Erik shook his head.

"He's going to have quite a bruise later, though," Erik replied. He watched her stand quickly and come to him, her expression completely changed.

"Thank you..." Her face was nothing but relief as she looked up at him. Before he thought better of it, Erik spoke.

"You're unhurt?" He asked. She shook her head, then inspected him.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," Erik assured her. "I got him from behind, after all." He was tempted to smile, but kept himself stoic. She walked past him hurriedly and knelt.

"Oh, your violin!" She cried out and reverently picked the case up. Erik turned, suddenly remembering it. He wanted nothing more than to rip the instrument from her hands, but she gently held it to him. "I hope it's not damaged."

He opened the case and inspected the piece. He put it back, satisfied. "It's fine." He took the case back.

"You-you were about to-"

"Go home, Christine. Don't ever tell anyone about this." He turned to leave. _Walk away now, Christine. Before I change my mind._

"Wait!" Christine cried. "How-how do you know my name?" She walked behind him, trying to catch up to his quick gait. She placed a hand on his shoulder and made him face her. "Who are you?" Her eyes blazed with the question. He caught her hand and brought her close, his own eyes boring into hers.

"Erik."


	2. My God, Who Is This Man?

Author's's Note: Yay, chapter 2! Thanks to all who have read this, and to all who review. Erik, though not deformed, is no saint. If you didn't notice last chapter, I'm sure you will now.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Even the computer I'm writing/uploading from...

"Erik."

His eyes sharpened. _Goddamn it, why is it her?_ He'd recognized her as soon as she had come to him. She went to the same school, studying music in the hopes of becoming an artist. He'd heard her nervously sing once in accompaniment with the music professor, and he'd felt something past her lack of practice. Since then, he'd watched her on the university's grounds with near obsession. Of course he'd know her name. Erik knew everything about her. He saw Christine's eyes grow wide as he dragged her with him.

"Where-"

"If you resist, I'll be forced to do something terrible." Erik felt her shudder, but she stopped wriggling. She instead walked to keep up at his side, trying to be normal, but her face betrayed her worry. Christine's eyes darted quickly to his face, then away.

"What are you going to do with me?"

"...I don't know." At this point, Erik felt some honesty couldn't make the situation worse. He'd wanted to speak to her since he'd heard her sing, he'd wanted to be close to her. _Well, here I am, holding hands with her,_ he thought bitterly.

They ascended the stairs to his apartment, and she remained still as he unlocked and opened the door. They entered and he quickly locked it, then turned to her. I_sn't this a cozy situation? I just saved her life and sequestered her in the same night. _

Christine noticed how nice the inside was compared to the outside of the building. Outside, it looked decayed, but inside everything was lovely. There was a fireplace in the den, a little furniture and a piano. _His home_. Erik walked towards her, and she winced as he reached out to her.

"Don't hurt me," she whimpered. Erik brought his hand back, and he knew then what he had to do.

"You're going to be staying here for a long time, Christine." He pulled out a key to show it to her. "This is the only key that opens the door, from the inside or out." He put it back in his pocket and looked at her as she began to realize what was to happen.

"You-you can't!" She cried out. She tried to think quickly. "My family- they'll come looking for me. They must be worried-"

"You're an orphan, Christine," Erik said firmly. "Don't think you can lie to me. No one will come looking for you here."

"I'll scream! I'll wake up the whole building." She was trying a brave front, but Erik wasn't worried.

"You know, funny thing about why I chose this building-" He knocked at a nearby wall, "-soundproof. Excellent for a musician." The topic of music seemed to bring her into a new panic.

"My music! I have to go to school. People will begin to wonder if I go missing."

"Not if you drop out for a time." Erik took off his trench coat and smiled. "Tomorrow morning, a letter will be dropped off at the registrar's office, from a Miss Christine Daae, regarding her enrollment. Turns out, she wants to take some time off to see the world. School has left her rather burned out."

Christine watched him with horror. _My God, who is this man?_ She slumped to the floor, trembling. After the death of her parents and graduation, she'd moved to the city to pursue her dream of singing. Now, she had been rescued from a possible rape, only to become a madman's captive. The tears welled up, but she refused to cry in front of him. Her head still bowed, she angrily whispered.

"Why are you doing this?"

Erik took her by the arm and wrenched her up. He walked her to the extra room and settled her in a chair. "Because you know what I'm capable of." _Because you're afraid of me now._ "There's a bath connected. I'll...give you some of my old clothes to wear. You're soaking wet." He turned and closed the door. "Now you cannot ever be free," Erik whispered to the door.

Christine wept into her hands after Erik left her alone. Today had been so normal- music classes all day, and she'd gone shopping in the city tonight. She was late to catch her bus, and tried to cut across the alley when she'd been attacked. Her lost shopping bags and missed bus no longer worried her now. With her trembling right hand she grasped at the silver band on her left ring finger. "Father, what do I do?" She called out to the windowless room. "What am I supposed to do?" She thought of Erik, her rescuer and captor. She shuddered as she remembered how easily he had tried to choke the life out of that man, and the vicelike grip he'd had on her hand. "I can't stay...he'll kill me."

An hour later, Erik had made some tea and sandwiched for his 'guest' and found some clothes and supplies for her. Carrying the tray in one hand and a bag in the other, he kicked the door open gently with a foot. He saw Christine look up with red-rimmed eyes. She quickly wiped the tears and looked away.

"Don't you knock?" She spat. He set the bag down and put the tray on the night stand.

"Last time I checked, this was my home." He noticed she wouldn't look at him. _She hates you_, a dark voice cried out in his mind. _She's a threat if she lives. IF._ He knew it, but shook the thought from his head. He poured her tea, slipping something into it. "I've made you something to eat, and there's clothing and quilts in the bag. Use them." He walked away.

"I won't tell anyone," she whispered. He would have known she was looking at him now, if he'd turned. "I swear, I won't ever tell anyone, but please let me go."

"I don't believe you. You lied about having family, Christine. How could I expect you to keep quiet about a monster who found you in the rain?" He walked out, but remained in the hall, arms crossed over his chest.

Christine wanted to shriek, beat her fists on the door, but she couldn't. She put her head in her hand and looked at the meal and bag of clothes. She shivered, this time from the cold she hadn't felt before in her terror. She opened the bag and pulled out the quilt, tossing it on the bed. She then pulled out a long t-shirt and looked at it, blushing. _I don't think so. I'd rather freeze._ She looked at the steaming teacup. If she had any reservations, they disappeared as she drank in the warmth. It was the first comfort she'd had all night. Cup in her hands, she looked around the room. It was comfortable, but she didn't notice that now. Instead, her tears spilled out of loneliness. Her trembling lips parted, and she sang. It was shaky at first, but soon she poured herself into it.

_Smile,_

_Though your heart is aching,_

_Smile_

_Even though it's breaking_

_You must smile_

_Through the fear and sorrow_

_Smile,_

_And maybe tomorrow_

_You'll see the sun come shining through_

_For you..._

_Light up your face with gladness_

_Hide any trace of sadness_

_Although a tear_

_Maybe ever so near_

_You must smile_

_You must keep on trying_

_Smile, what the use_

_Of crying?_

_You'll see that life is still worthwhile..._

Christine had drifted into sleep as she sang. Erik had heard her singing, and felt the need to open the door as it grew quiet. He saw her in the chair, asleep, and took her in his arms. _The drug worked quicker than I expected._ He noted, with some irritation, that she was still in her wet clothes. _Now I'm getting wet._ He set her on the bed and looked at the shirt, then back at the sleeping girl. _Of course, give her the sedative before she changes._

He felt annoyed, but another part of him was darkly thrilled. _She's the girl you've been watching, Erik, _it told him. _What would be the harm? She'd never know if you-. _Erik cursed under his breath as he sat her up and reached behind her to unzip the dress. _I'd know, damn you._ His darker urges were normally more dormant, but tonight the object of his obsession was lying helpless in his home. He would've been surprised if his darker side hadn't reared its ugly head.

He'd dressed her with his head turned away, trying to be courteous. He laid her down and slipped the quilt over her. "You'll see that life is still worthwhile," he sang softly, "if you just smile."


	3. I can't Escape From Him

Author's note: Thanks to all of the reviewers. To answer a few questions, Erik never really planned to bring Christine to his home...but he's not really unhappy with the idea. It was a coincidence that they met that night, since I've never seen a fanfic with that premise. I thought it'd be interesting if he happened to rescue the girl he'd had his eye on _and_ reveal his murderous side in the same chance meeting. Being held at his apartment...Christine's fortnight in the Phantom's home on the lake was one of my favorite moments in the book, so I wanted something like that to happen :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, least of all the Phantom of the Opera...

Christine felt the warm blankets over her in the dim room. She stretched and flexed her arms before rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. _Have I overslept? My alarm clock hasn't-_. It all rushed back to her. She looked around the room, and stopped when she saw a tray in the night stand with a note. She inched over and picked it up with a shaky hand, eyes now accustomed to the lighting.

_Dear Christine,_

_I've left to run some errands, but will return before long. I'm asking you not to do anything foolish while I'm away. So long as you don't let your curiosity run wild, I can guarantee your safety. There are no phones in the apartment, so don't bother searching. My room, also, is locked. The den, your room, and the kitchen are free for your inspection, though. Feel free to have a look._

_I've left some breakfast tea for you, and a small set of toiletries. If you're hungry, there's more food in the kitchen. Please make yourself comfortable._

_Erik_

She wasn't as pleased as Erik might have thought after reading the note. Christine quickly crumpled up the note and threw it across the room. She took fistfuls of the quilt and threw it off her.

"He's a sick -" She looked down when she felt how cool her legs felt. _Bare?_ "And why am I in this shirt!" She shrank to the floor in embarrassment. "I don't remember changing into this," she said to herself, "so did...he...?" She grasped at her hair. No, this was not a question she wanted to ask herself. The thought of _him_ anywhere near her made her sick with worry.

She remained in this panicked position for a while, until her stomach growled. Her body's needs overcame her self-pity, and she brought the tray down to her. On it was a thermos of warm English tea, sugar, milk, spoons, toast, butter, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. _So considerate_, she rolled her eyes. After a quick brush, she slathered some butter on the toast and poured her tea. The toast was heavenly and the tea was still warm. _Haven't eaten since yesterday,_ she reminded herself, _and it would be very ungracious of him **not**__to feed me after locking me in here_. She sat on the floor, unaware of the time as she finished the tea and toast.

Erik had left her sleeping, tray and letter on the night stand, and headed to the university. He patted the envelope in his trench coat pocket. _A perfect copy of her writing_, he smirked. All of the attention he'd paid to Christine had paid off. He'd seen her writing on the board before class once, and he was an apt pupil. That little sample was all he needed to forge her writing.

After he'd dropped off the letter in the office box, and turned in his latest composition, Erik headed for a quiet corner of the school. He flipped open his cell phone and dialed a phone number he knew too well.

"Hello?" The older male voice was clear.

"I need a favor, Daroga." Erik wasn't asking. His courtesy towards the Persian-  
born detective had worn thin long ago.

"What did you do now?" The man sighed, years older now. He'd known Erik too long, and knew when the boy had gotten himself into a mess.

"It's not what I've done that's bad. It's what I will do if you don't help me. I need a certain someone to disappear. They're going on vacation, hitchhiking in Europe. I'll need their things packed away, too." Erik didn't want to involve him more than necessary. "The price of your service is up to you." There was a silence between them as the older man weighed Erik's offer.

"I want the Stravinsky. The engraved one."

"You old bastard," Erik muttered over the phone, looking about him.

"You have other violins, Erik, better ones. This one is worth too much to leave lying around your room collecting dust." The Daroga mused, "My wife's pregnant, and it would make an excellent start for my daughter."

"Congratulations, Daroga," Erik whispered. He was surprised at the thought of the older man as a father. The word 'father' had never really meant much to Erik, though, and so his emotion was short-lived. "Very well. I'll have it delivered to your address."

"I _could_ pick it up at your apartment when you're there, Erik."

"No, I've been busy at school. I keep odd hours." Erik was being sincere enough- he chose to remain writing in the music room for hours, but that wasn't the reason he didn't want the man stopping by.

"All right. What's this person's name?"

Christine had finished her toast and tea, and had washed the dishes in the kitchen sink. She sat on the floor in her room, stretching. Boredom had gotten the better of her, and she'd already looked about the accessible parts of the apartment. She'd discovered a television and DVD player in the den, as well as an excellent sound system. _No phones, just like he said_, she reminded herself. For a moment, she'd lost her senses and tried forcing the heavy front door open with her small body. _I can't escape from him_, Christine had decided, _at least not right now._

That matter settled, she was bored again, and in need of a bath. The previous night's rain and terror wrought havoc on her hair and nerves. She decided to try out the bath. In her earlier search she'd already found some shampoo and conditioner and soaps, as well as soft towels, and she thought it a waste not to use them.

Her dress was gone, and all she had was the large shirt. She ran the large bath, added some foam wash, and stripped down. She set her clothes gently on the sink counter, and slipped into the bath. The water was just right, and Christine sank down to her neck in the foamy, milky water. Her eyes closed, inhaling the perfumed water, she could make believe that this was her bath, her home. She could pretend that she'd chosen to play hooky this one day in order to pamper herself. Christine consumed herself in thoughts of what she'd do when she got out of the bath. _Perhaps put on my favorite outfit and go to the movies. Or go to the music store and buy a new cd ... Sarah Brightman, maybe?_ She forced these impossibilities into her head, leaving no room for her new reality, and she felt such relief that cool tears slipped down her flushed cheeks. She knew it wouldn't last forever, but this moment was so necessary that she didn't care. Even as she drained the tub and wrapped the towel around herself, she was calm. The spell was broken only when she opened the bathroom door to come face-to-face with her dark-haired captor.

"Oh. You're awake."

A/N: Cliffhanger! Hope you've liked the story so far, and I hope you'll continue to read it.

SimplyElymas: That's why I love Erik. Angst draws me in like a moth to a flame.

Lydiby: I kind of like the chance thing...and I know Erik's a bit OOC...but I hope to develop the story more to answer a few of your issues. Wish me luck :)


	4. Sing For Me

Author's Note: My gosh, it's the fourth chapter. I've set up for a very bizarre living situation, haven't I? Then again, when has Erik ever been normal? Thanks to everyone who reads and leaves a review. I feel ultra-happy when I read them!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera...otherwise Raoul would _not_ get the girl :)

Erik had driven back to his apartment after a short stop at a shopping center. It was late afternoon, and he was tired of running errands. He parked and pulled out the bags from his backseat. _Why are you doing this, Erik? It's so risky to have the girl in there,_ the voice reminded him. "Shut up," Erik muttered aloud. She was stuck in the apartment, and he had to try and make the best of it.

He opened the door carefully, then locked it right behind him. He listened for activity in the apartment, but didn't hear Christine. Cautiously he made his way to her room with his packages. He opened the door and noted, with some relief, that she'd at least gotten out of bed. _At least the sedative wore off all right_. He heard the click of the bathroom door and turned to see Christine wrapped in a towel. Her widened eyes met his own.

"Oh. You're awake." Erik hoped she'd be too distraught to notice his reddened face, and so there was some relief mixed in with his annoyance when she pulled the towel closer to her and screamed.

"Get out! Get out get out get out!" Christine's temper flared. She stood awkwardly, glaring at Erik. He put the bags down gently.

"I didn't know you were in the bath, Christine. I came in to give these to you. They should fit, I think." Erik wasn't looking her in the eye at the moment, too embarrassed to make contact of any kind. "I'll leave you to change." He stepped out and closed the door behind him. He walked away, a hand to his forehead. _Well, having a girl in the house might have its perks_, a part of him chuckled. Trouble was, Erik didn't know which part of his it was. _Dinner,_ he shook himself mentally, _I should start dinner._

_Damn him._ She clenched her fists. _He probably thinks he can just walk in on me whenever he likes because he's got me trapped._ She wouldn't let herself cry, though. She'd be damned before showing him how scared she was. Instead, she had glared angrily at him and waited for him to respond. He'd surprised her when he'd spoken calmly and set the shopping bags down before leaving. Christine had been left alone to fume.

Her anger had quickly dissipated when he'd left her alone, and she eyed the bags cautiously. _More of his old clothing?_ She walked over and knelt by the bags, opening one. In it, she found a long blue skirt and white top. Underneath, she found a pair of ivory sandals. _For me?_ They were all women's clothes and shoes. Even, and she blushed when she saw them, undergarments. She stood behind the door to change, still worried about another intrusion. Christine was only too thankful that the clothes fit her well. She wouldn't have wanted to wear that t-shirt again.

Finally decently clothed, Christine decided to wander out into the den. She peeked her head out, but didn't see him there. Instead, she heard chopping coming from the kitchen. She spotted him, back turned to her, cutting up some vegetables. There was a pot of something boiling on the stove, along with a sauce. The smell of the sauce was heavenly, but that was not what brought Christine out of hiding. He was singing quietly as he worked.

_Ave Maria,_ Christine realized, _but I've never heard a male sing it._ The sound of his voice was a shock to Christine. The song, which she'd sung as a soprano, sounded so wonderful coming from him. He was not just a baritone, he was an alto, even a soprano. Each note was given new life. _It's beautiful_. She'd let out a sigh without realizing it, and he stopped, turning to see her.

Erik had never been embarrassed or ashamed of his talent as a musician, but Christine had surprised him. He'd heard her sigh and, never expecting she'd willingly leave her room, did not know how to address her. "Dinner will be ready soon, Christine. Go sit at the table." It was all he could think to do, order her around.

"All right." Christine moved to the table and sat herself down on one end. She looked up at him and couldn't see the small amount of surprise he had at her complacency. She broke eye contact for a moment. "Would you keep singing, though? I didn't really want you to stop," she murmured. Her mind reprimanded her, reminding her of what he'd done to her, what he might still do, but curiosity had gotten the better of her. And his voice _had_ been so beautiful.

Erik stared at her a moment, surprised again. "After dinner." He looked down and finished chopping vegetables, placing them in a bowl and tossing with olive oil. He moved silently and set it down with the plates, then went back to drain the pasta and finish the sauce. _She likes my voice,_ he allowed himself to feel pride at that. _She's your captive, and she's waiting for you to let your guard down,_ his dark self snapped, _don't fool yourself. You know just how painful rejection is._ Erik let his hand wander to the right side of his face, lightly tracing a finger down his hairline. _I know._ He set a plate of spaghetti in front of Christine before taking his own and sitting down.

He saw her bend her head and whisper grace, and fought down the bitter taste rising in his throat.

"Amen," Christine said. She looked up to see him for a split second before reaching for her fork. Erik reached for his own and took a bite. He noted, with some satisfaction, how surprised she was with his cooking. Erik eventually stopped eating, too interested in watching her. It had been so long since he'd shared a meal with anyone, and never dreamed he ever would with Christine. It was uncomfortable, granted, but he preferred it to eating alone.

"Did you look around the apartment while I was out?" He saw her look up, surprised he'd asked.

"Yes, but there was very little to do while-" she stopped herself short. - _while you were gone._ The words echoed in her mind. While he hadn't hurt her yet, the thought of wanting company, even his, so badly bothered her.

"There's a piano. You should have practiced your scales, at the very least." His reprimand surprised her.

"I haven't been in the clearest mind set." She huffed slightly. "Forgive me if I wasn't thinking about music at the moment." She pushed her plate away, full.

"You're studying music. It should be the most important thing for you." Erik picked up his plate and hers and headed to the sink. He heard her stand.

"How do you know so much about me? My family, my love of music, the school I go to?" Her eyes softened a moment, trying to remember his face. "Did we meet before last night?"

Erik sighed soundlessly and put away the plates. "Yes. I knew you before." Christine came closer to him, hoping that by closing their physical distance he'd open up.

"How do you know me?"

He turned to her, but ignored the question. _No need for her to off into hysterics._ "I'll play the piano in accompaniment. Do you have anything you'd like to sing, Christine?" He took her shoulders firmly and led her to the piano.

Christine shrugged him off and crossed her arms. "Don't change the subject. How do you know me?" It was time for some answers, she'd decided. She didn't know anything about him, save the fact that he was a killer. _He's so young...maybe my age? When did he meet me, and where? _

"One of your only freedoms now, Christine, lies in asking questions," Erik's voice was powerful, unquestionable. "But, I don't have to answer them." He flipped through sheets of music, and found one he was certain she'd recognize. As Christine fumed and opened her mouth to aggravate him further, Erik began to play.

"Sing for me," he ordered. Behind him Christine raised her head slightly, recognizing the melody. Her argument died away in her mind, replaced with music. His fingers played across the keys so deftly, his skill as good as any concert pianist she'd ever heard. The song being played was the wedding duet from _Romeo and Juliet_. It was a love song. As Erik opened his mouth and sang, she felt something trembling inside her more powerful than fear. It moved her to sing, too, without reservation.

_Fate links me to thee forever and a day..._

They sang together. Not as captor and captive or predator and prey, but as maestro and unknowing protege.

Author's Notes:

Thanks to everyone who has read the story so far, especially to those who've reviewed. I'm really happy to get such wonderful feedback. I'm planning to have more conversations with the Daroga in the story, since he has a good deal to do with Erik's past. As for the rest of the characters making an appearance...it's a secret :)


	5. You Belong to Me

Author's Note: A bit of Erik's darker side being exposed here...but I think it's important that Christine start to see more of the monster as well as the man. Hope you all enjoy it!

Christine had hit the last note when she realized he had stopped playing. Erik was watching her, mouth set in a firm line. Christine felt herself twist a little under his scrutiny.

"What is it?" She bit the inside of her lip, unsure of what he was going to say. He got up and took his chin in his hand. She struggled a little, embarrassed. "What are you-?"

"Chin up," he said, bringing another hand to her back, straightening it. "Your back has to be straight." His hand lingered at the spot between her shoulder blades. "You have no idea how your posture affects your singing," he chuckled. Christine glared at him and shoved him away from her. She brought her arms to wrap themselves around herself.

"Don't touch me," she spat. "Don't ever think you can touch me." Christine felt herself shudder as he looked at her. _He sang so sweetly, I nearly forgot who he was_, she shook herself. As he took a step towards her, she felt the color drain from her face. She raised a hand. "Don't come near me."

"Don't ever think, Christine, that you can order me." Erik's eyes narrowed and something dark lit his face as he saw her blanche. His anger clouded his rational mind, and something else entirely took over. With a swift movement he grasped her wrist and brought her to him, crushing her into him. "You don't understand your position here, so let me make it clear-"

"Let me go!" Christine squirmed but couldn't free herself. He shook her, forcing her to look at him.

"Let me make it clear: you live here because I chose not to kill you. Make me regret that," His eyes burned into hers now, "and it will be a very bad day for you." He felt a thrill as she shuddered in his arms. "Do you understand me, Christine?" He squeezed her wrist and heard her cry out. "Do you?"

Christine let out only a small whimper, trying to match his gaze. "Let me go." She tried to pry her wrist free. In response he gripped it harder.

"I've clearly explained the rules, Christine. You have no control over things, and it's useless and tiring if you fight me." He easily twisted her arm behind her back, eliciting a cry from her. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I'll ever let you go," Erik whispered into her ear. "You belong to me."

"Shut up!" She writhed, even though it hurt her so to do it. Christine knew she'd make him angrier, but didn't care. The pain and cruelty had pushed her to her breaking point. In surprise, Erik had loosened his hold and she yanked herself free. While he was still, she moved away and turned to face him. "You're a monster." She'd said the words, but could never have anticipated his reaction.

He walked deliberately towards her, mouth in a grim line. His eyes however, were on fire. They terrified her, and she took a step back in fear. _I'm going to die here. _She closed her eyes as he kept advancing, and soon she felt his hands grip her shoulders. But, instead of the iron he'd held her with before, his hold was somewhat...softer. She looked up to his unreadable expression, but only for a moment. Erik soon shoved her away.

"Go to your room, Christine." Erik looked away from her so she could not see him trembling. His voice was crystal, betraying none of his turmoil. He hadn't heard her retreat, and could still feel her there, so he slammed his fist into the wall. "Go now," he growled. To his relief, he heard her hurried steps, and a door slam. His hand shot up to his temple. _She's a bother, isn't she, Erik? Tempting you, faking kindness so you'll let her go. What's the use in keeping her?_

He pulled out the wire he always carried with him. Uncoiling it, he held it to the light. _It wouldn't be hard. A little tug, that's all. You'd be free._ Erik felt the wire, and for a moment could see Christine's terrified face as he-

"No!" He dropped the wire as if it were a venomous snake. "Damn you, I won't do it," he cried, gripping his head. _Why not? Why prefer torturing yourself with her?_ His inner voice had stopped taking an angry and accusatory tone. _Is it because you still haven't accepted what you are? You were never born human, Erik. _"I know," he growled. _Monster. Not the first time you've been called that._ "I know. But we were very cruel tonight. _I _was." He laughed. "Isn't it for the best, though? Make her understand the gap between us." _Make me understand it, too._

Erik remained in the den that night, staring at the wire. He fought with himself, hated himself, but woke up feeling that same distrust and anger burning deep inside him. He sat on the sofa and waited to see if Christine would come out.

Her fears validated, Christine had spent most of the night locked in her bathroom, but before that she listened with baited breath at her door. It was all icy silence and whispering, though.

"Damn you, I won't do it!" It was the only thing she caught through the walls. He'd said it with such force and anger that she'd decided it would be best to lock herself away from him.

The door locked behind her, she curled up on the bathroom rug and leaned her head against the cool tile of the floor. Everything in her felt heavy and she was immobile. All she could do was think until she fell asleep, so she did. She kept thinking about this man. _Erik, he called himself. Saves me, then captures me, then threatens me. But he sings._ She nearly laughed at her stupidity, her assumption that his voice and skill could compensate for his actions against her. _It doesn't,_ she told herself, _and it never will._

Christine felt all of this and understood it, but as she began to drift off, she remembered his face as he'd pushed her away. It was different from before and she couldn't read everything, but there was something she'd recognized. _Pain. _

A/N: Thank you all for your support! It means a great deal to me.


	6. Think of Me

A/N: Thanks to all reviewers. I hope to become a better and better writer.

Disclaimer: Own nothing... :(

* * *

He'd remained in the den until eleven o'clock waiting for her to come out of her room, but Christine remained where she was. Erik had nearly opened her door a few times, but had thought better of it at the last minute. _What would I say to her? _In all honesty, he couldn't apologize. If he were now to apologize and grovel it would be all the more difficult to coexist with the girl. Apologies would give her power of him, more than she already had, and the thought made his blood boil.

After scribbling a quick note to her and leaving it on the table, Erik picked up his black coat and car keys and headed to the Daroga's home. It was Saturday, and an excellent opportunity to make a few purchases and drop off his payment to the detective. He gripped the violin case and headed out.

* * *

Christine woke up with a headache. _Sleeping on the tile floor will do that, I guess._ She picked herself up and heard the door close. _Has he returned from somewhere? Or has he left?_ Gently she opened the bathroom door and tiptoed to the door. Putting an ear to it, she listened for any movements. Since everything was stone-still, she opened her room's door and ventured out. Christine knew he was gone when she saw the note on the table. Gingerly she picked it up and read.

_Christine,_

_I have more errands to run and might be back late. If you're hungry, the kitchen's open to you. Feel free to eat what you like, since I might not be back for dinner._

_Make yourself comfortable, and be sure to practice your piano. I'd suggest practicing melody composition. Fresh music sheets and a pen are on the piano, waiting for use. I await your new piece eagerly._

_Erik_

She shouldn't have been surprised at the lack of content in his note, but there was a disappointment in her after reading it. He'd run out of his home after all, so he wouldn't have to deal with her. After last night Christine should have felt relieved that he was gone, and a big part of her _was_, but it bothered her at the same time. He hadn't mentioned last night in the note, much less apologized. Instead he'd cut himself off from her, going out the heavy front door where she couldn't follow. His act was a painful reminder of what she'd lost as well as his cold personality. "But why should it surprise me? Since when do I expect a murderer to have a soul?" She sighed. _Since you heard him sing, Christine. And those eyes-_

"Food," she said to no one in particular. She tapped her stomach with one hand as it grumbled. "I think tea would be nice, too."

* * *

The patio was small, but inviting. Erik shifted uncomfortably his chair, one of a match set of green outdoor furniture. He watched as his Daroga came back out with decorative glasses of lemonade. Taking up the violin, Erik placed it on the table. "I just came by to drop this off."

"The engraved one?" The Persian man set a glass in front of Erik, then sat down with his own.

"Of course, Daroga. It was a deal." Erik folded his hands in front of him. "Has everything been taken care of?" A gentle nod of the older man's head was enough to confirm this, so Erik began to get up. "Then we're done here."

"What did this girl do to you, Erik?" The older man looked up to Erik, and his expression was not amused.

"Since when have you ever wanted the details of my affairs?" Erik was cool, unwilling to open up this subject.

"Since when do you kill women?" The Persian man leaned in. "What danger was she to you?"

"I'm a monster, Daroga," Erik said, unflinching, "don't make the mistake of thinking otherwise." There was irritation in his voice, and the older man was willing to drop it for the moment. They stared at each other for a moment, one standing and hovering and the other sitting comfortably, as a third person joined their group.

"Hello again, Erik. I haven't seen you for a very long time." The older woman smiled warmly at Erik, and he nodded in response.

"Hello, Mrs. Giry."

The couple looked at each other and smiled. "Erik," she laughed, "I've remarried this strapping man. I've mourned my husband long enough. My name's not Giry anymore."

"He knows, Antoinette," The older man patted his wife's hand. "He's just never going to call you by any name other than 'Mrs. Giry'."

"You know me so well, Daroga," Erik said humorlessly. He looked at Mrs. Giry in her yellow dress and noted, as if it were a third head, the bulge that was beginning to develop. She noticed his fascination and placed a hand on her stomach.

"She'll be due soon. Meg's so excited she wants to fly back from London when she's born." Her eyes twinkled. "But she's studying ballet. She must be more strict with herself." The Daroga placed his hand on hers.

"You can say that because you were a prima ballerina in your day. Now..."

"And who says I couldn't be now?" She huffed slightly. "True, it would have to be after the baby was born, but ..."

Erik watched this display between them with mounting discomfort. Normal. _Wife and mother_. Normal. _Husband pulling a 9-to-5 to pay for the patio furniture_. Normal _Girl trapped forever in my apartment._ Not normal, he acknowledged. He realized he was still standing, and cleared his throat.

"I've got to run, Mrs. Giry. I only came to give my dear Daroga my present for the baby." Erik moved the case closer to them. Mrs. Giry smiled and wanted to hug him as he passed to leave, but he placed a hand on her arm. "I'll see myself out. It was good to see you again." He walked past without a response.

"That boy," She sighed as she heard the door close, "he's still so alone. After all of this time, instead of recovering he's just stagnating." The knowledge was heavy on her, and she slumped into her chair. The Daroga handed her the untouched lemonade. She drank gratefully as she heard Erik's car pulling out of their driveway. "I wonder if he'll ever find someone who'll help him." She rubbed her hand over her swell, and the Daroga didn't have the heart to tell his wife that Erik might have murdered someone who'd tried.

"Perhaps someone's trying," he responded. He wondered if she believed him but didn't want to ask.

* * *

Looking over at the piano, Christine noted the blank sheets that waited for her. She tapped a key and listened to the note. Even though it was very old, Christine was surprised at how in-tune the piano was. _The piano must be very valuable to him, to keep it in such wonderful condition._ She sat at the piano and played a few notes together. Liking the sound of it, she jotted them down on paper. _Is this what you do all day? _Another series of notes were hit, and they were exactly what Christine had wanted. Like magic, the music she wanted was being transfigured from thought to notes she could set down on paper. _Is this what you feel?_ There was an excitement in her she hadn't felt for a very long time as she blotted out and replaced notes again and again. _Is this how you sing?_

* * *

Erik had long since returned to his own driveway and parked his car, but he remained within it in deep thought. _Is she there forever? Are you stuck with her until she dies, or just until you kill her?_ Erik tapped the steering wheel. _It's so uncomfortable with her in there. My control goes out the damn window, and for what? A whimpering girl with a pretty voice. _He looked at his pale hands. _I wonder why I coveted her voice so much...it needs so much training, and she's not receptive to my help. So why keep her?_ He struck the wheel once, and opened the door. Picking up some packages, Erik made his way to the apartment. Noiselessly he unlocked the door and stepped in. He picked up the piano melody being played in the den, and moved closer to listen. He heard her scribble down something, and when she was in sight noted that she'd used the sheets he'd provided her.

"From the beginning," she declared. With a breath she began to play. Erik could have snickered at such a simple melody. It was nothing but an easy, repetitious pattern of notes. Still, there was something beautiful in it. _Haunting, like some memory. Like a children's song._ His concentration on the pattern broke as he heard her hum to the melody. It wasn't finished, but it sounded so sweet. Christine's eyes were closed, trying to feel out the notes. From time to time she replaced the humming with a word or two. He let the packages drop and walked to her.

"Do you have a name for it?"

She stopped playing and turned the moment she'd heard him speak. Christine fumbled with her fingers, still sitting on the bench. "It's not- I don't have lyrics for it and-"

"I wasn't asking that, Christine." He ambled over and took a look at the sheets. He played the beginning bars while she watched nervously. "It's good," he looked at her, "and I wanted to know what you'd call it." As he watched her bite her lip he fought not to shake an answer out of her. "What were you thinking when you worked on it?" His eyes were trained now on the sheet, where he could make out a few words here and there over the notes. She looked down, fighting any instinct to blush as he complimented her.

"_Think of Me_," she murmured. She didn't look up to catch him staring at her. "I want to call it _Think of Me_."

A/N: Dun dun dun. No, Erik and Christine haven't made up. No, they still don't understand each other. We'll just have to see if they ever will. Oh, and I bet you never guessed the Daroga's wife would be Mme Giry. SURPRISE! Please stay tuned for further updates. It'd make me ever so happy if you would.


	7. Christine, Christine

Author's Note: After a lovely beach house vacation, I've come back to my writing! Hope you like this chapter. I love reviews, and really would love to hear from you! Coughreviewcough

Disclaimer: Wish I'd written the original, but I didn't. I own nothing. I'm just messing with the story.

* * *

"_Think of Me_. I want to call it _Think of Me_." He'd heard her and been surprised by her choice. It wasn't something abstract like _Piano Medley No. 3_. She'd admitted that she wanted lyrics, so the song wasn't relying on the melody alone. There was a very specific mood to the title, and it opened up many possibilities for lyrics.

"Why did you chose that, Christine?" He looked at her, trying to see an answer in her facial expression. She, however, was nervous at his intrusion. The events of the previous night hadn't been completely forgotten, after all. Her hand gently took one of the sheets and she studied it.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. He remained still, giving her silent encouragement. "It's a simple song, but I think that builds up the mood." She played a few bars and closed her eyes, becoming a little bolder. "It's sad, I think. I can imagine someone like me, singing to someone she can't physically reach." She looked up to him, hoping he understood what she was trying to explain. "_She _remembers _him_. _She_ thinks of _him_. But, will he ever think of her? She wants him to, even if she's not there with him anymore." After a moment her face colored and she laughed nervously. "It's kind of sappy, I know. But that's what it sounds like to me."

"The notes are pretty well laid out already," Erik said, putting his hand out for the sheet she had. Without a second thought Christine handed it over to him. With one hand he looked the sheet over and with his free hand he played the tune. "How long have you been putting this together?"

"A while now, I think. Since you left, maybe? But I've been wanting to write something like this for a while." Christine moved over on the bench as he sat himself down. He nodded in acknowledgment, but kept playing a sequence.

"You have a few words here and there," Erik said as he set the sheets onto a stand. He pointed them out here and there.

Christine tapped her finger on a key in time with Erik's playing. "Just thoughts. I've never written lyrics. I'm not that good at it."

"Would you like to?" He stopped paying attention to the music and looked at her, not playing anymore. "You wrote the song. It'd be a waste if you couldn't complete it." There were no words in her mind. With it blank, she just nodded dumbly. He stood. "I'll make some tea, then. You'll need it while we compose." He moved off to the kitchen, and she was left alone again.

* * *

_What just happened here?_ Christine watched him go with a great deal of confusion. _'We' compose? He's going to help me? _The fact that he hadn't mentioned his outburst bothered her more than the note. _Looks like he won't ever mention it...does that mean I should?_ A flash of his feral face as he'd held her by the wrist answered that question.

Gingerly she pulled at the long sleeve of the shirt she was wearing to look at the bruised wrist. Though it looked worse than it was, Christine had definitely gotten the message that night. _But why? One minute he was himself, then he wasn't_. She rubbed her wrist gently. _I can't see how someone can be so gentle with music and so callous with people. True, I didn't have to shove him away, but he **didn't** have to put his hands on me without warning._ Thinking back, she remembered how he'd been correcting her posture with those frightening hands. _It's not my fault I was afraid. Anyone would be in these circumstances._ A deep sigh arose from her, and she wondered how long things could continue like this.

* * *

He'd been somewhat impressed by Christine. Just as he'd wanted to give up on her voice, she'd given him an excellent opportunity to teach her. True, it was just a piano tune now, but in time he'd fashion it for more instruments, and create a harmony. He was tempted to bring out his violin and try some accompaniment once they had some lyrics set to the music.

The sound of the kettle whistling snapped him out of his thoughts, and he poured some of the hot water into the teapot. In a smaller pot the honeyed mixture waited to be used. Picking up the tea tray he walked into the den.

"You're set, then, on a female singer?" He set the tray down on the coffee table and poured. She snapped her head up and smoothed her sleeve. _Hiding something, Christine?_

"Yes, I like that idea I had, so I'd like to try that." She looked back to the sheets. She pointed to the beginning. "I wanted the melody to begin before the vocals. Maybe at the second break we introduce the lyrics?" She bit her fingernail, concentrating so hard that she didn't notice Erik near her, cup of tea in his hand.

Some little pressure had appeared in his chest as Erik heard her. _We._ "A soprano piece," he decided, clearing his throat. She looked up and he handed her the tea. He took his place beside her on the bench. "I'd like you to run the song as we go." He readied a pen and some new sheets as well as her piece. "Drink the tea if your throat begins to bother you. Even if it's cold, it's good for your voice. It'll help with the strain." He began to play, looking at the words she'd already written. He pointed to one. "This, it's too long. The syllables have to be in synch with the timing of the music." He scratched it out.

Christine drank and tasted honey and some odd spice. She set it next to the piano as he began to point out problems. She'd never had any experience with lyrics, and had never realized how difficult it could be to match what she wanted to say with the music she wanted to say it with. Still, he stayed with her, running the music over and over to try and find something to match it.

"Try it here, after the note." He showed her. "We'll work with your voice later, just try to match time with the music as you go." He began with a small introduction, and her nerves fluttered. The first note that came out faltered, and she stopped.

"I'm afraid I can't-"

"We're alone, Christine," Erik said, looking only at the music sheets, "I don't believe you should be nervous singing with me. You've done it before." He didn't catch her near-grateful expression as he began again. "Try it." She heard his playing, and took a breath.

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye._

_Remember me, once in a while_

_Please promise me you'll try_

_When you find_

_that once again you want_

_to take your heart back_

_and - -----_

_spare a thought for me_...

She stopped, frowning. Erik noted it, and looked up to her. "What is it, Christine?" She pointed out a word.

" 'Want' doesn't sound like it's the right word. And we still need to find something for this section here after 'and'."

"Why isn't 'want' the right word?" He played the notes. "It fits well."

"It doesn't express what she feels. Sure, she wants things, but shouldn't this person be more than a want? She's far away from him and she ... I don't know...longs for him? Everyone wants everything. 'Long' is something similar, but rarer. It's more important if someone feels it or not." She saw him stop and pick up the pen. He scratched out want and replaced it with her new word.

"Still fits, so if that makes you happier with it, fine." Erik saw her nod, and looked at the gap in the song.

" 'And' what?" She sighed, looking at the sheet. " "And not see me'? 'And set me free'?" A little frustration set in, and she took a sip from her tea. "I don't know what should go there, but it's got to be short, doesn't it?"

"And be free," Erik decided.

_When you find,_

_That once again you long_

_To take your heart back _

_And be free,_

_Spare a thought for me..._

Christine watched him with a kind of fascination as he played and sang the bit for her. _That voice...how can he sing so well so easily._ He'd caught her gaze and stopped playing to answer her unasked question. "With discipline and some natural affinity for it, anything is possible."

"Where did you learn to sing?" Curiosity again made her bold. Though she worried about starting something like last night again, she wanted to know.

"I was well taught as a child. The rest I learned on my own." His eyes met hers, and though they were cold they weren't threatening her. That gave her the confidence to ask her question.

"Could you teach me?" It was simple enough, and Christine knew he'd wanted to help her before the incident, but she also knew she'd have to be the one to ask this time. _Funny,_ she thought to herself, _I've only been here a few days, and I know he isn't the type to apologize_.

Erik sought some composure before replying. "I'll teach you." He straightened up the sheets. "We'll try singing lessons as soon as this piece is finished. It'll give you something new to practice." Without looking at the sheets, he began to play. "Again, from the beginning. Take the sheets and see if it flows against the music."

* * *

He played and she sang well into the night, hammering out the first draft of the song. At one point he'd taken over playing and singing while Christine walked around the room and stretched. He had grown a little fond of the song. Even though the subject matter was foreign to him, there was something in him resonating when he'd heard her sing it. He looked at his watch when he finished and saw how late it had become. "Christine, I think we should-" He stopped short, seeing her curled up on his couch like a cat. He sighed, but strangely he couldn't find any irritation building. Gingerly he picked her up and took her to her own room. Settling her into bed, he decided it would be best to leave her in her own clothes. It was as he settled her, though, that he spotted her injured wrist. Erik looked it over without guilt, but tucked it close to her. He brought the quilt up to her chin, and his hand rested there a moment. With a will of its own his hand pulled gently at a soft curl. He tucked it behind her ear, allowing the back of his hand to trail down her cheek as he did.

That action was enough to disgust and inflame him. He walked out of her room and into his own. He fell back into his bed and covered his eyes with one arm. _Christine_, he kept hearing her name in his mind. _Christine, Christine._ He wasn't divided. There was no dark and angry half telling him to come back to reality. Just Christine.

* * *

A/N: Has Erik developed a little crush? Has he merely become inspired to sing because of her? And Christine? Is she ever going to understand him? When's Mme. Giry's baby due? Stay tuned to find out! Oh, and review! I love feedback! 


	8. The Life You Knew Before

A/N: Chapter Eight! The characters are set and Erik's evil and good side have both been shown (kind of) to Christine. Their pasts, though, are a different matter. Enjoy and review :)

* * *

The sound of a violin wafting through the bedroom door began to make Christine stir. She opened her eyes and saw she was back in her room without any recollection of walking to it. Rather than allowing this to bother her, she listened intently to the violin. It was very familiar, the music being played. She gave a start when she realized why. _He's playing it._ Standing quickly Christine walked out to see him in front of her. In the hallway he stood, playing his violin. _He's really playing it._ The sound was so soft, but it gave her chills to hear him.

He looked up for a moment, meeting her eyes for that fleeting second, before looking quickly away. What had possessed him that morning, to play outside her bedroom this morning, he could not explain. Instead he just played, ear intent on making sure the integrity of the song was maintained. He hadn't been able to sleep that night, so he'd spent most of it playing with his violin until he was satisfied with the sound. More than ever, he wanted to play well at this moment. The original composer was standing there before him, after all.

Christine stayed beside him and listened, unsure at the stirring she felt inside as he played. She'd only meant to write a little piano tune yesterday, but he'd done so much more for her. He was playing her piece to her, using a different instrument. When he'd looked up so suddenly she hadn't had time to say anything. Instead she'd felt the blood rushing to her face. When he'd looked away again, the music kept her heart beating fast. All of this moved her. He stood there giving her something he'd probably been working on all night.

As the song came to its end, Erik righted himself. His long black hair covered his eyes, and his hands gripped his violin. He wondered what to say, if the first words should come from him or the girl, but his mind was blank. He had nothing to bring up, really.

"Thank you." Erik had turned the moment she'd said that. She was standing in front of him, hands clasped together, smiling at him. _At me._ Christine took another step towards him, and Erik was glued to his spot. "Did you work on it long?"

"No. It was easy." He backed away, meaning to go put away the violin in its case. "I think it will work well with the piano." Erik walked to the den to put away the violin.

"It was..." She tried to find the right words for the surprise, "I've never been woken up by someone playing music for me. Thank you." Immediately she'd realized it was the wrong thing to say. Erik shifted uncomfortably, and she felt more awkward than ever.

"I'm making breakfast." He didn't wait for her response and headed to the kitchen. His departure made her less anxious, and Christine thankfully went away to change.

* * *

As he prepared the tea he began to calm down. Erik continued to be surprised by her. The way she acted confused him. Christine was being held here against her will, but she hadn't been very cruel to him. _Yet_. She allowed him near her. _Not too near_. She had asked him to teach her. _But not to stay here_. Turning off the tea kettle he poured the hot water into the teapot. _Is this what it will be like everyday with her?_ He readied some rolls and butter in the oven, head elsewhere. In his mind he saw her smiling at him. _Don't look at me like that. Don't do things I can't understand_.

"Do you need a hand?" Erik turned to see Christine come into the kitchen wearing the light pink dress he'd bought her, curly hair tied back with a matching ribbon. He looked back at his rolls and shook his head. "Are you sure?"

"Christine, I've prepared my own meals for a long time. I'm fine." The tone in his voice was a little annoyed, but Erik tried not to show his irritation at her repetitive question. _I'm just not used to anyone asking once, let alone twice._

"All right. I'll set the table, then." Christine understood his tone but wasn't going to give in. He'd done something nice for her, and she felt like being helpful in return. She walked over to the cabinet and pulled out two teacups and saucers. As she began to set them down, she turned to him. "In which drawer do you keep your silver in?"

He watched her in a mix of annoyance and surprise. _Why does she bother me so much?_ When she'd turned to him he'd been caught off-guard. Her wide eyes looked at him without a trace of fear. Instead, she looked weirdly determined to set his table for him. He sighed and sliced some lemon for their tea. "In the second drawer on the right."

She nodded her head and went over. Opening up the drawer Christine pulled out the silver and went back to setting the table. She didn't feel his eyes watching her now and then, studying her. Finished, she took her seat and waited for him. He brought over the tea and rolls on a tray and set them on the table. She was going to reach out for the teapot, but before she could Erik picked it up and began to pour her cup.

"Thanks." She mixed some honey into it as he sat down and poured his own cup. She took a roll and placed it on her saucer. Raising her head slightly, she saw Erik looking into his tea in deep concentration. Before she thought better of it she interrupted his thoughts. "Are you all right?"

His eyes flickered to her face and then back to his tea. "Fine." Taking a drink of his tea he returned to his normal self. He ate quietly with her, but spoke softly. "I'll be giving you music lessons every day, Christine." She swallowed quickly, interested. "It will have to be later in the day. I'm in school a good part of the day." He stopped short, seeing the change in her expression. She set her teacup down.

"Oh. Ok," she murmured. Her heart sank. She wanted to reason with him, more than ask him about his schooling. Going to a good school had been the one reason she'd left her home. Without it, what was she doing in this city? _I want to sing... I promised my parents...my father.._ She wanted to yell at him, but she knew it was useless. He'd get so angry, and he'd never agree to let her go. He couldn't risk letting her go since he'd nearly killed someone right before her eyes, since she knew his name and face. She squeezed her hands together under the table.

"You weren't making progress at that school, Christine." Her eyes shot up to view him as he spoke. "You have natural talent, but your time there hasn't been spent wisely. I can help you, though. With me teaching you, you will excel." His eyes seemed to shine to her. "I will demand much of you, but it will be worth it. Will you accept the challenge, Christine?"

"Yes." Her response was automatic, flying out of her mouth before any doubts could make her rethink. "I want to sing." He placed his hands on his lap.

"Then forget about the life you knew before." Erik knew his words were heavy, but it was better that she understand that the outside world shouldn't matter to her anymore._ The sooner she gets it, the better off she'll be_. He stood and picked up the dishes. He was setting the teapot and dishes to dry when he heard her quiet reply.

"When will you start teaching me?" She remained sitting in her chair, arms crossed. He walked to her and held his hand out to her.

"Right now. We'll start by finishing the composition." He fought to control his arrogant smirk as she took it. She followed him to the piano and let herself be seated on the bench. Erik took his place beside her, but before his hands found the keys, Christine tugged at his sleeve. "What is it, Christine?"

"I'm afraid of you."

"I know." He responded without any hurt or anger. His hand found its way to Christine's ribbon, and he tugged gently. It fell loose and her curls spilled around her downcast face. "Who wouldn't be afraid? A fool or a dead man." He kept the ribbon but brought his hand back.

"I don't understand you." She brought her head up and met his eyes. Her chocolate orbs didn't betray her worry, and his emerald ones didn't show his surprise. Turning back to the piano, she settled her fingers over the keys and began to play. He soon joined her, dismissing everything but the music they were creating.

* * *

Hours later, with empty dishes and music sheets blotted with ink lying strewn around them, the piece was ready. Christine seemed to glow next to Erik, excited at the accomplishment. Erik had to admit even he felt it at its completion, and perhaps a small part of him felt proud of her as well. _A tiny, tiny bit_.

"Will I start practicing the piece soon?"

"First, you need more instruction on the piano and your voice needs to be improved. We'll work with pieces you're already familiar with. Once you've mastered your instruments, we'll work on this." Erik reverently set the sheets on top of the piano. Christine nodded her head and got up. She stretched her arms out and massaged her neck with one arm, unaware of his eyes on her. Erik also left the bench, picking up their discarded dishes. _It's the first time I've eaten in the den_. "Christine, do you read much?" Erik knew the answer to his question, but wanted to ask her all the same.

"I love to read," she replied with a little smile. Erik nodded his head.

"I have a small library in my room. Wait here." He disappeared into the hallway, then into his room. Christine was left watching him and wondering why she wasn't trying to follow. _Forget the life you knew before_, she could hear the warning in those words echo through her, but there was something else in it. _Did he know it hurt to remember school? Is that why he said to forget it?_ She was lost in her own thoughts when she heard his voice.

"Christine?" He'd seen her pensive, and walked to her with books in hand. She snapped out of her reverie and looked at the book he was holding out to her. She took it and read its title. _Paradise Lost?_

"Have you read it before?" He asked her. Christine shook her head, flipping through some pages. "It's a long poem, based greatly on the bible. Milton's a bit tough, but it's rewarding." He took his own book, _Othello_, and sat in his armchair.

"Have you read it?" She turned and sat on the sofa. He looked up from his book and nodded. "Did you like it?"

"It's been one of my favorites since I first read it." He settled his eyes once more on the page, but knew that Christine was still observing him. Stifling his annoyance at being watched, he turned the page. "Read, Christine." When he didn't hear a reply, his curiosity got the better of him. He looked up to see her reading, concentrating on the book as if he weren't there. Satisfied, he settled in to his chair and read, knowing he'd probably have to carry her to her bed again tonight. He pulled out the pink ribbon from his pocket and placed it on the arm rest to use as a bookmark when the time came.

A/N: At last, she shakes him up! Will there be an uneasy truce or will another fight break out soon? Only I know for now, but please read and find out! Many thanks for the reviews, too. I'm really excited about writing because you guys are willing to help guide me.


	9. Dreams of Beauty

A/N: Wow, chapter 9! Thanks to everyone who reads my story, I am really happy that you do!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the clothes on my back and the ideas for the story (retail value: $10.59 – I had someone come up with this exact amount, by the way, a la Price is Right).

* * *

When you're a captive, time passes slowly. As Erik's student, though, Christine felt time pass with at a pace she could barely keep up with. Mornings began with a breakfast Erik left her as well as his instructions for practice while he was away. Some days, it revolved around hours of piano practice. Other days, it was vocals or compositions or some book or theory to read. He expected her to be warmed up and ready when he returned in the late afternoon for dinner. Of course, he'd cook and wouldn't allow her to help with anything other than place settings.

"You just worry about your studies." He'd reprimanded her gently on several occasions. In the end, Christine had learned to accept this as another rule of her mysterious tutor's.

After dinner was finished Christine would sit patiently at the piano while Erik washed the dishes. He'd join her as soon as that was over for scales and instruction. It was during the night that they spent the most time together, intimately singing to and for each other. She'd become used to his hands molding her, showing her posture and mouth formation, as a kind of necessity. The fleeting touch of those cold hands sent shivers down her spine, but she'd learned not to overreact after that first time. She was his student, after all, and had no right to complain about her maestro's methods. Slowly her voice improved and, while he still worried her, Christine felt their odd comradery growing too.

Erik noted with satisfaction how well her voice had begun to suit his own.

"Christine, you've improved dramatically on your intonation." Erik said quietly one Friday night, when Christine had been particularly diligent. He flipped through the music sheets. "Something a little harder now..."

As he searched, Christine sat beside him, watching him. His long hair, which normally obstructed her view of his profile, was pulled back behind his ear to help him focus only on the study at hand. _Such a pretty face...like an angel._ His bone structure was excellent, and his eyes catlike. With more than a little embarrassment, Christine had begun to realize how often she'd wanted an unobstructed view of him. _Why does he hide his face with his long hair?_ She followed his dark hairline, only to notice a trace on his perfect skin. A light pink scar ran down from halfway down his hairline and disappeared behind the ear. _I think it's only on the right side_. She resisted any desire to touch the line, not wanting to show any form of affection she was certain she did not feel. Still, the line fascinated her, more than the perfect face. She kept her eyes on it.

He turned suddenly, and his questioning eyes met hers. His hand sprang up to his hair and pulled it out from behind his ear. He looked back at the piano and stood to leave it.

"What is it?" She was alarmed at his change in behavior.

"I believe that's enough for tonight, Christine. I haven't given you enough time to rest your voice." With that, Erik took his textbook from the table and sat on his chair. He knew Christine would soon follow suit. As he waited for her, he fixed his eyes solely on the page. _She saw it...she saw me,_ he shuddered inwardly. _Will she ask questions?_ _If she does, you don't have to answer,_ his other half explained, _you're not the prisoner here. You amuse yourself with her, but never forget who is in the position of power in your game, Erik._ There were times he hated his dark self, but this was not one of those moments. Although it had gnawed at him since he'd allowed Christine to live in the apartment, it was useful to help keep himself in check.

* * *

"Did you ever finish _Paradise Lost_, Christine?" Erik looked up casually from his copy of _Jazz Theory: Modern_, now composed once again. Since the night he'd given her the book, Christine and Erik had begun to settle into an uneasy peace. Music was the main subject of their conversations, and a near-comfortable silence enveloped them when they read together. Christine smiled sheepishly, a child caught in a little fib.

"I'm sorry, but I just couldn't." She was embarrassed to admit it, but was honest about it.

"Was it too hard to follow?" There was no disappointment, just curiosity.

"No..." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Not really...just kind of hard to finish. I mean, I know the story of Adam and Eve-"

"And the devil who plots their demise, right?" He shrugged his shoulders. "It's a common story, falling from grace."

"I stopped after the devil happens upon Eve in the garden."

"That was pretty early in, wasn't it? Did you become bored?"

Christine shook her head. "I read how he felt as he watched her. It was too sad for me to continue." She frowned as she remembered the passage. "Thrown from heaven, never to be forgiven, his jealousy was so natural. He secretly dreams of beauty, and can't ever reach it. I've read the bible, but I've never felt pity for him before." She feared she'd said too much again when he closed his book and spoke to her.

"Are you really such a child, Christine?" Erik's eyes shifted slightly to see her. She'd long since built up a tolerance to him, he knew, but watching her lose her temper diverted him. _Like watching a kitten squirm helplessly when you've got it by the scruff of the neck._

"What?" She colored, but remained civil. It had taken too much to make their current arrangement work and she was determined to keep it. "What's childish about feeling sorry for him?"

"Everything," was his casual reply. "Your poor devil is a monster. He's acting in his nature, and so there is nothing to feel sorry for."

"His nature?"

"Yes, his nature. Your 'poor' Satan is only acting as he must. He was born to be a fallen being, and as such can never live the happily ever after you'd like him to. He can never be beautiful." Erik hadn't expected this to turn into real conversation, but didn't find it unpleasant to be teaching Christine one of the colder facts of life.

"Well, who decided that?"

"God." He snapped. "All part of his infallible plan: make someone the bad guy, only then can there exist free will to be good or bad. The one fallen is never saved, the rest can go either way. So," Erik summed up for her, "Adam and Eve will be forgiven and go to the good place, Satan is kept out for all eternity. The End."

There was another silence, this time strained as Erik became annoyed as Christine tried to counter his argument. _So sweet,_ his darker self sniggered, _a girl who feels sorry for a monster. Would she feel sorry for you, Erik? Would she embrace you and smile as you choked the life out of-_

"Well, the story's not over yet, is it?" Christine huffed. Erik was shaken from his terrible thoughts as she spoke. "I mean, I don't know what God's planning and **_you_** don't know it either. The end of the world isn't today...and it probably won't be tomorrow. So how can you say it'll be forever? Things can change between now and then."

"Can his very nature change, Christine?" He couldn't look at her then, but his voice wasn't challenging her assumption. "Can a monster change into anything else? Can you be changed into anything more than a human?"

" ... no." She decided. There was a wince Erik could not hold back. "Not by myself...but, maybe with some help. People aren't solitary creatures, right?" She tugged at her sleeve, "So...I want to believe that we're not as alone as we seem sometimes." The words again seemed to spill out from some spring inside her. Lately, she'd realized she was becoming more open with her captor and tutor, and as frightening as it was she couldn't stop herself. She saw him stand and tuck something into his book, getting ready to leave.

"_You're_ alone, Christine." He saw her pale at his cruel words. Her parents had only died a year or so ago, and it was still so fresh. And then he'd gone and made her his project. Somehow, he couldn't stop. At the moment, he resented her sweet, stupid words more than he liked her company. "You're all alone, so how can you say such things? It's hypocritical." He turned to leave.

"I'm with you, aren't I?" Her retort stopped him in his tracks, but he didn't turn as she rose. She dropped her book on the sofa. "It's not how I'd want things, and it's not how I planned life, but here I am. With you. I'm not alone." As she spoke, she realized how true her words were. This was and at the same time was not what she'd wanted since her parents had passed. It made her sick inside. The feeling was only intensified as she heard Erik's bitter laugh. He turned and seized her shoulders squarely, bringing her to him.

"Of course you can be thankful _now._ You've never had to deal with anything terrible in your life-" Erik brought a hand under her chin and forced her to look him square in the eye, "-except me."

"You're scaring me," she whimpered, but tried to stay still. The more she struggled, the more it would hurt. It reminded her of that night a few months ago.

"All part of God's design, I'm sure." His smile was feral, enjoying the power over her. "You're good, and God must keep testing that over and over again. Tell me," he was entering a rage she'd never seen before, "will you pass this one? Will you be freed and smite me into the fiery pit, Christine?" His grip was becoming more painful by the second, even though she was not struggling.

"Please stop..."

"-And since when do you feel safe with someone like me?" He ignored her pleas, too involved with his own dilemmas. "Why _should_ you be safe? Why is it you feel so entitled in front of what you've so aptly catalogued as 'a monster'?" He bent to whisper in her ear huskily. "Feel all the sympathy you want for an imaginary monster, dear girl, but you'll regret being so defenseless before a real one. You were defenseless in front of those men, weren't you?"

_Slap!_ Her hand stung with her assault, and her mind reeled at her unplanned action, but Christine had had enough. As he cupped his cheek and growled, Christine let it all out. "Why? If it's so terrible, why do you act like this? If you don't want to be a monster, then stop all of this!"

"Enough," he growled, fist clenching. She shook her head furiously.

"No! I want to know why you're so twisted. Why do you get so angry with me?" She took a step back when he looked at her. His hair disheveled and his eyes gleaming, he looked mad. He took a step toward her.

"Because-" Erik brought his hands around her neck, "-I hate you." Her eyes widened as he said those words, and she closed them to keep any reaction she might have had inside.

"Are you going to kill me now?" She asked in a deadpan voice. Her lack of resistance and question seemed to strike Erik somehow, because his hold loosened just a little.

"I have every right to," he responded. _I have every right to protect myself_.

"No." The tears leaked through her closed lids. "You don't. But you're going to." _Just do it, already_, she thought bitterly. When his hands retreated from her neck, she opened her eyes. The same anger was clear on his face, but he held back.

Wordlessly he moved away. She, in turn, felt her legs give out under her. She was sick of fighting and her loneliness, and as she fell to the floor she didn't feel any fear. A numbness set in suddenly, and Christine felt she'd really died at his hand. Little did she know Erik had used her moment of weakness to move behind her and pinch a nerve at her neck. She slumped down before him, but he made no attempt to pick her up and carry her to her bed. He did not trust himself with her at that moment, and so he chose to run out of the apartment before having her blood on his hands. He drove to the one place he could feel the slightest sense of comfort from.

A/N: Just when they made a little progress, Erik has to get all dark and moody...YAY! Please stay tuned for updates, and leave a review.


	10. Those Pleading Eyes

A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews! Your support means a lot to me (I guess that makes me a review whore, right?). Erik was just being too nice in chapter 8, so I let his darker side come out to play. Also, I hope the time elapsed wasn't too big a bother...but a daily routine seemed a little dull for me to write down...I'd rather they get used to each other, then have their blowup. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

She didn't dream. A darkness enveloped her, and Christine could not see or hear. She imagined it was the sleep of the dead, and awaited some further action. When she simply opened her groggy eyes to find herself on the wooden floor, she pieced together the events of the past night as best as she could. Frustration coursed through her, and she slammed the palm of her hand down. _What did I do to him? Why must he scare me when I try to speak openly to him?_

* * *

"Erik, while I do enjoy your rare visits, I am a little...put-off by your timing." The Daroga sat at his table, drinking his black coffee and reading the paper. Erik sat across from him, looking at his tea.

"You said your home was always open to me. Surprised I took you up on your offer?" Honestly, Erik was uncomfortable. The girl had forced him to flee his own home, and instead of going to a hotel of some sort, he'd felt that Nadir and Mrs. Giry's home was safer. Now he had the curious detective to deal with along with some bizarre feeling that bothered him whenever he thought of Christine.

"I'm surprised you took it up in the middle of the night," the Persian yawned. "_Some_ of us have to work in the morning."

"Yes, and some have a baby to care for," Mrs. Giry interrupted, testing a bottle's temperature on the skin of her arm, "but what does that have to do with anything?" She frowned at Erik's choice for breakfast. "Are you sure that's all you'll have? You wouldn't be eating us out of house and home if you had some toast, too."

"No, this is fine. You have the Daroga and a child to feed. Don't coddle me." It wasn't irritation, just tiredness, and Mrs. Giry had learned to let such things from Erik go. The cry of her infant roused her from her company, leaving Erik and the Daroga alone for the moment.

"Erik, you never got around to explaining why you needed to stay the night here." He folded his newspaper and looked at him seriously.

"I haven't done anything, if that's troubling you. Nothing terrible's happened." He drank his tea as the Daroga formulated new questions in an attempt to find the truth.

"Then why seek refuge in your old friends' home? You can't possibly need money," He mused this with a hint of envy, "you rarely drink, much less take drugs. And you haven't killed anyone, so you don't need my services for that." His face became amused for a moment. "Could it be love that's driven you into a corner? It's common, especially with young men."

"Come now, Daroga, be serious." Erik's eyes narrowed menacingly.

"All right, Erik." The Persian sighed. "I suppose _that_ particular idea is alien to you now, but you can't hide from it forever. Even if you remain in that damned appartment until you die."

"I will thank you to keep your fatherly wisdom for your newly acquired daughters," Erik said, placing his teacup back on its saucer.

"And I will thank you for your excellent conversational skills." The daroga responded, standing and reaching for his coat and hat. "Truly, your gift of gab is a blessing unto us all." His sarcasm didn't scathe Erik at all, but the detective had hardly expected it to. With a small nod to Erik he left his house. Alone, Erik thought back to his violent outburst. He'd had the chance to wring her neck, and had been so repelled he'd left the appartment. The thought of her tears, not supplicating but pained, bothered him. _Is she crying right now? Does it bother her that I didn't leave a note?_

"Erik, I haven't introduced you to _ma petite_ Madeleine." Mrs. Giry walked gently to the table and sat with the baby feeding from its bottle. She knew how uncomfortable this interaction would probably make him, but she also knew how rare such normal events had been to him. Erik looked at the child, trying to mask his inexperience.

"She- she looks a great deal like you." His momentary awe passed, and he tapped a finger on his knee. "It's a relief she didn't inherit her father's nose and bushy eyebrows."

"I rather like my husband's face, Erik." She cooed a moment at the baby, then placed her in her bassinet. Mrs. Giry's face became stern. "I won't ask you why you came. I will, however, ask you about your health. Are you ill?"

"No, I'm very healthy. I'm not prone to sickness, but you know that Mrs. Giry." He'd stopped tapping when she'd begun her inquiry, uncertain about whether it was best to remain or leave. Either choice would have uncomfortable consequences.

"No, Erik. You know what I mean." She rested her hand on her mouth a moment and sighed. "My late husband _was_ your physician, after all. I can tell if you seem troubled."

"Don't remind me of that, Antoinette," Erik said, "I'd like to at least pretend to have left it all behind."

"But isn't _that_ exactly what's wrong?" She replied. "You've been pretending so long, it upsets you to remember. My question is, what triggered your memories?" Mrs. Giry hadn't expected an answer, she'd simply wanted to pose the question.

"A voice," Erik answered. "I'd like to leave it at that." Mrs. Giry wanted to know more, wanted Erik to open up and let her in, but she understood his tone. They were done with this topic. _For now._

"Very well, Erik, but since you deny me any more friendly conversation, I hope you'll accompany me for a stroll down Garden Street." She seemed pleased at this venture, and began to pull out the baby carriage.

"I'll walk with you, but why Garden Street?" He felt he owed her a debt for the use of her guest room and her tea, but Garden Street sounded so...normal.

"It's the Saturday flower market. I'd like to get some fresh chamomile and lavender for Madeleine's room, and perhaps some roses for the table." Gently Mrs. Giry laid the giddy child into the carriage and turned to Erik. With a quick sigh he followed. He'd had enough of chattering women when he'd been shopping for Christine. He imagined a flower market to be no different.

* * *

_Where is he,_ Christine wondered, looking at the clock in her room. It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and she hadn't found a clue as to his whereabouts. Unlike all of the other times he'd stepped out, Erik had failed to supply her with a note or explanation. _But it's not like he was able to last night. He was so...and I was..._ She threw a pillow in her annoyance. _Since when does it bother me what he does? I haven't forgotten what he did to me. Or for me._ She rested her head against the wall. _So what am I supposed to think? Am I supposed to be ok with his threats and anger just because he's my tutor? _Fresh tears stung her eyes. _And why do I care? Why can't I just let it go?_

* * *

Erik, Mrs. Giry, and Madeleine toured the stalls that littered the street. Floral arrangements, from the modest to the dramatic, overflowed. Flowers of every kind sprang up before them, entreating them. When Mrs. Giry finally selected a vendor, they entered his stall and searched his wares. While Mrs. Giry was entertained with flower selection and the vendor's wife was entertained with Madeleine, Erik simply stood there. He liked flowers well enough, and fancied he could have taste for them if he'd actually wanted to buy some. It was enough for him, however, to watch.

"Excuse me, how much for the roses?" A tall brunette man suddenly appeared near Erik, looking over at the buckets filled with an assortment of roses.

"I'm running a special: A dozen long-stem in a bouquet for 20." Yelled the vendor over the crowd as he showed Mrs. Giry the lavender. The tall man nodded.

"I'll take a dozen red, then." He readied his wallet as the vendor motioned an assistant over to start the bouquet. The tall man finally noticed Erik's sedentary presence and shot him a small smirk. "A fight with my wife," he explained, "I figure, nothing says 'I love you' like roses. Or 'I'm sorry'." He handed the money to the assistant and was given his arrangement. "Are you here to find something for your girl?" Erik became slightly slack-jawed by the question. He shook his head.

"I'm just walking around." He answered. The tall man nodded and left Erik to his business. As Mrs. Giry selected and paid, Erik remained by the roses.

"Did you find anything interesting, Erik?" Mrs. Giry asked, flowers wrapped and settled into the crook of her arm and carriage in the other hand. He shook his head slightly. "Well to thank you, the least I could do is invite you to eat dinner with me. My husband will be working late tonight, so you don't have to worry about keeping your wits about you."

"..." He considered the offer, and nodded. He could attend to his thoughts later.

* * *

It was late. Christine had eaten alone, and spent the night in-between books and her worry. Finally, in an attempt to calm down she'd taken a long bath, but to no avail. She was plagued by thoughts she hadn't realized she even had. _I don't want to be his prisoner...but I want to know him. Does it have to be a trade-off?_ It occurred to her that he might not return. _I never used his name_, she realized, _because I just kept thinking of him as a monster._ She sat in the den, hands running slowly through her curls. "Father, I'm an idiot. I don't know what to do." Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke out loud. "I don't know what to do..."

* * *

He'd opened the door quietly, trying to think of what to do to get her to come out of her room (he was certain that's where she'd barricaded herself), and walked into the den only to come face-to-face with Christine. She raised herself from the floor, wide eyes trained on him.

He stood before her, and Christine couldn't move. He realized he'd been holding his breath at the sight of her, and let it out in a sigh as he walked towards her. _She was waiting for me..._

She winced as he came forward, waiting for some terrible and unknown action to fall on her head. Instead, she felt something so soft on her cheek. Opening her eyes, she saw the single rose he was offering her. She straightened, looking at it intently. A single, blood red rose with a black ribbon tied to it was being held out to her. She looked at it, then at the man offering it to her.

Erik didn't know what to say. An apology he couldn't give her. Her freedom or his past, also, were out of the question. But _something_ had to be offered to her, more than just a flower. He looked at her.

"Please." It was all he could choke out, and he watched her expression carefully.

She heard him, and stared. Again, she saw pain reflected in his green-crystal eyes. Pain... and something else she could not name. _Those pleading eyes..._. She had no choice but to stare into them. Never tearing her eyes away from his, she gently took the rose from him, her hand lingering on his a moment longer than necessary, and brought it to her. The soft touch of her hand and the intensity of her gaze was more than Erik could stand. After she had taken the rose, he walked past her and towards his room.

"Erik." She'd called out to him, and he'd stopped. His back still turned to her, his hand gripped his burning chest. _My name. She's calling me by my name._ She took a few steps forward, and he took a shaky breath before turning to her. She stopped just short of him and reached out to tug gently on his sleeve. "Please, don't frighten me like that again." She looked up at him with tears shining in her eyes. "Please, Erik."

He wanted to rip himself from her hold. He wanted to crush her to him and cry into her. Instead of doing either Erik stood there, watching her. _I'm in love with her..._

"All right."

* * *

A/N: Yay, Erik's figured it out! I'm sorry to say that Erik's angry, hateful side isn't going to take this lying down. But...the moment of realization is nice to dwell on. Oh, and I have to thank Josh for giving Mme. Giry's baby a name. I owe you one!

Thanks to the reviewers who have given me the confidence to keep going with this story!


	11. Close Your Eyes

A/N: Thank you reviewers and readers! I hope you all liked the last chapter, and like this one, too. I've decided it's too easy to make an "I love you!" "Oh! I love you, too!" chapter, so we'll see how this goes...

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and now the Photo DVD (Josh is the coolest)

* * *

After he'd given her his word, Christine had closed her eyes with something like relief. She'd nodded her head, her hand had detached itself and she'd moved towards her room. With a sudden movement, he'd stepped forward, and taken it in hand. Although her eyes had met his in tired confusion, he'd remained impassive. 

"I'll help you to bed. You seem very tired." Such a stupid excuse, he knew, but he'd wanted to touch her suddenly. Some soft fluttering made itself known when she'd nodded and walked down the hall with him, and grew when she looked up to him to say goodnight. Unable to control himself, Erik hurried to his room to hide the sound of his heartbeat from her.

* * *

_She called out to me._

Erik had made a realization at that, and it frightened him. He knew now why he'd done things for her- why he'd observed her, played for her, taught her, bought her that damned rose. He now knew why he couldn't just leave her alone. _I could have let her go,_ he realized, _I knew she wouldn't really tell. I knew she wasn't still sure of what I was._ He sat at his desk and looked at the warped reflection in the little silver hand-mirror that sat atop it. It seemed to be smirking at him, a terrible expression from Erik's grotesque twin.

"But she knows now," His sinister side replied. "She knows you can kill- you've nearly tried to murder her a few times now. Do you know why? It's because Christine is just another pretty thing that it hurts you to look at. Your room is filled with _her _pretty things, but they just weren't enough. You want this painful reminder."

"Shut up," Erik growled.

"But still you look. And not just look, Erik. You covet."

"I don't-"

"Why did you lock her up, then? You want her all to yourself- "

"Shut up!"

"-but you do," his other half pressed on. "Why were you so eager to bring her home with you? To keep from killing her? A poor excuse, not befitting us at all." Erik could only dumbly shake his head. "You know it's true. You see her as-"

"Stop..." He slammed his fist on the desk, and his eyes began to focus. The face in the mirror was his own again, but he could still hear his dark self whisper.

"-a pretty girl who'll belong only to you...one to be with you, like your mother never was." The dark laugh infuriated him even as it dissipated, but Erik could not deny it. The gaping hole that existed inside him wanted to be filled with Christine. The hand he'd held hers in raised itself to his lips, and Erik kissed the palm in a shuddering motion. It was painful, to know what his entire being wanted and how impossible a desire it was.

* * *

"I see our guest has departed," The Persian detective grunted as he removed his dress shirt. His wife slid behind him and helped him change. "Erik can never seem to force a 'thank you' from his perfect throat, can he?"

"Did you notice something, Nadir?" Antoinette asked her husband as she dropped the dirty clothes in the hamper. She dimmed the light and slipped under the covers again quietly. Nadir laid next to her, taking her hand with a gentle tug.

"The fact that he never explained why he needed to sleep over bothered me. Even from Erik, it's odd behavior." He smiled at his wife. "Why do you ask, Antoinette?"

"I don't know. He asked for a rose. I suppose I found it odd." She gave a half-smile to her thoughts. _I offered the arrangement I'd bought, but he just wanted one...and the black silk ribbon they'd come in._ She looked at him with something like hope in her eyes. _I wonder, what use does a man have for a rose and a ribbon_?

They were quiet in their room. _Well, I don't understand, _Nadir thought to himself, _has he opened himself up to you, Antoinette? _He expected some sort of relief to wash over him as well, but he knew Erik. Although the boy might have begun to see the beauty in a rose, the detective wondered if that was enough to hope for the existence of a man's soul somewhere inside. He dropped the subject as he heard Antoinette's soft breathing become regular in sleep, and instead he too slept, and dreamt of Persia and of a time when monsters existed only in stories for amusement.

* * *

When Christine woke up to smell Erik's cooking, and she rushed out to the kitchen only to see him hovering over the stove, there was a gratefulness that slipped quietly into her. She assumed her place, moving past him to pull out the place settings. Sitting quietly once she'd finished, Christine watched him as if nothing had happened to change their routine. _But something did happen,_ she thought to herself, _I'm sure of it._ Now, Christine was determined not to be afraid of him. He'd promised, after all, not to scare her anymore. And, most importantly, she wanted to believe that he would try. Even as she felt his eyes watching her as she ate, she looked up to smile at him with some confidence.

"Did you practice while I was gone?" His eyes did not betray him. They were ordinary, a little tired, but not the eyes of the previous night.

"... I- I wasn't in the mood." She wondered at him as he calmly sipped his tea. Why he asked that, she could not say. She had expected him to ignore anything that had to do with _that_ night.

"You're the student, Christine, of an exquisite muse, but you shouldn't assume it moves at your whim." His mouth was set in a small frown. "You move at music's call. If you forget that, you'll lose all of the discipline I'm trying to teach you." He picked up the plates and began to clear the mess.

She watched him with something like awe and embarrassment. Gently she looked away. "I didn't think of it like that." His scolding words, though beautiful, hurt her a bit. "Honestly, though, I wasn't myself yesterday. I couldn't have practiced like that ..."

_Were you distraught, Christine? Did I worry you? _Erik shook his head, clearing his mind of his foolish thoughts and rejecting her excuse. "Even a moment truly devoted to music takes all other thoughts away."

"How?" The wonder of what he was saying made her want to feel it. He walked out of the kitchen and past her, to his piano. He played a few notes, nothing special, but as the sound lingered in the air it seemed that Erik had become possessed. His eyes closed, he seemed to let the ringing sound flow into him. He took a moment to absorb even after Christine could no longer hear the sound, then more notes were played. In this way, she observed, he was composing. His eyes remained closed and his face tilted up and..._is he smiling?_ His lips had taken a serene turn up at the corners and although it was not a true smile, he looked so at peace to her. She moved to sit at the floor, looking up to him as he played on.

It was all improvised and new to him, but it was _music_. Erik could hear what he wanted to play inside him, demanding to break free. And he obeyed. His fingers knew the keys, and his foot the pedals. All he needed was the inspiration to find the song in all of it...

A sigh broke his concentration, and he looked down to see her watching him intently. Clearly he'd impressed her when Erik had only meant to show her the way.

"How can you...how can you play like that?" There was some shaky quality to her voice, the after-effect of his magic. She'd never heard such music, and had certainly never seen the veil lifted from Erik's face like that. It had been ethereal, and gone the instant he'd stopped.

He watched her childlike wonder, and could not find the words to explain. Instead he motioned her to sit. "You should practice your piano, Christine." With a newfound energy she nodded and sat. He watched her a moment, how she wanted to mimic what he'd done. It was funny to him, how hard she was concentrating on finding the keys. Her brows knit together and her playing was unsure. But at least she was trying. And that hopeful smile of hers seemed to resonate through the notes that were melodic. A rush of keys hit at the same time, however, ended both of those. She rested her hands over the keys and sighed heavily.

"Here," Erik had suddenly come up behind her, and rested his hands atop hers. Christine blushed, unsure of what he was doing. She opened her eyes, but he shook his head at her. "Close your eyes."

At his instruction she nervously closed her eyes and for a moment they were one in that insecure silence. Then, they played. It was soft, the pressure of his fingertips as he instructed her which notes to play, and although it was new and shaky the tune became more stabile the longer they played. She did not have any desire to name the tune, even though it was so familiar. Erik had chosen to play _Claire du Line_, but she couldn't recognize that. All she recognized was the sound, and the warmth of another body so close to her.

He watched her, guiding her with his own hands. It was a sin, the meeting of their flesh, but he reasoned it away. _I'm only instructing. Helping my protege._ However, the rose of her cheeks as she felt the sound distracted him so. Her lips parted, only a little, and he could hear her breath escape through the music.

"Erik." With her one word he'd stumbled. His hands moved a few centimeters from hers and she felt cool air hit them. Her eyes remained closed, hands set and waiting for him. "Erik?" He held back only a second longer. _She...wants me to take her hands._

They resumed their playing, and Erik never heard what she'd wanted to say. That was all right, he decided, because she'd have plenty of time to say it. All the time in the world, in fact. For a moment, he wished he'd had the strength to walk away from her that night in the alley all those months ago. She would have been far better off. She would still have her freedom, at the very least. _But you're here now,_ Erik watched her smile widen unabashedly, _and I want you. _There was something predatory in that thought, but he could not help it. He felt himself slip into the music as well, and his small smile returned once again.

_Close your eyes..._

* * *

A/N: Readers, possessive Erik, the mixture of love and jealousy, has taken center stage here. How will Christine deal with the man he's becoming? Read and find out!

By the way, I hope you enjoyed and will leave a review.


	12. Fear Can Turn to Love

A/N: Chapter 12, and now we delve deeper and Erik discovers a new insecurity!

* * *

Erik was distracted for most of the class. His eyes looked beyond demonstrations and blackboards, back in time to when Christine had been so wrapped up in music that she hadn't rejected him as he pressed closer. He'd brought his head down and taken in the scent of her curls, and rested it- just a _little!-_ on hers. But these awful acts, done when she wouldn't notice, only gave him that moment's satisfaction. He wanted more than small touches for his own instant gratification. Now it was all about how to achieve his aim...in mind, body, and soul. _Christine_.

* * *

Nadir sat at his desk, trying not to look as bored as he really was. After marrying Antoinette, he'd given up the beat for a desk, but he missed the excitement of the chase. He even worried that without it, he'd grow fat off of his wife's cooking. 

"Good," Antoinette had replied, "better heavy and with me than lean and six feet under. And I'm sure Meg and Madeleine agree." That had ended that, but it was still frustrating. Paperwork an analysis...things that needed to be done but not by him!

_I'm the Sherlock Holmes of the far east...I've flushed out masterminds, and here I am filing reports..._

A knock interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see a young man nervously enter. He wore nice enough clothes, and his honey-blonde hair was stylish. _Of the well-off college set, I'm sure._ "Yes, can I help you?" _Perhaps his car's been stolen, or..._

"I was told to file a report with you, sir." He was motioned to a chair near Nadir's desk.

"What kind?" He opened his desk drawer, ready to pull out the appropriate file.

"I want to file a missing person's report." He looked determined to do this, even though the chance of success was slim, so the detective sighed and clicked his pen.

"Your name?"

"Raoul. Raoul De Chagny." It was a proud name, French in origin. Nadir liked it, but it sounded so familiar...

"And the missing person?"

"Christine Daae." Nadir felt the name echo through him, and he knew.

_Erik, will I keep cleaning your mess until the day I die?_

* * *

She was composing, trying to find what she'd felt last night again. Whether it was _Claire du Lune_ or _Moonlight Sonata,_ it was not the same. It was easy to play, but not the same electrical current she'd felt running through her when Erik had been there. _Erik, and those hands_. Was it just her imagination, or had they become less frightening overnight? _Less frightening and more...kind. And it's not just his singing voice that I like anymore...even when he'd scolded me, it wasn't in a cruel tone. _Her hands flipped through the music sheets, and she found what she'd been looking for. _A little inspiration..._

* * *

Classes had ended, but Erik sat in the music room. With no one in the room, he pulled out his sheet music from his violin case and took up his work. He had been composing this piece for months, the right notes ebbing into and away from him in a manner that seemed to challenge his hold on the music. He thought of her, eyes closed and completely trusting, and he wanted to finish this. _When her voice is flawless, perhaps she'll sing this for me..._

With no one around, he allowed the guilty thought to brew into hope. He had to, if he was going to keep her with him. Even if he knew the harm in it, for her sake he could not react violently to his discomfort with her anymore.He had to grow used to her.

_"Please, don't frighten me like that again." She looked up at him with tears shining in her eyes. "Please, Erik." _

"Christine," he could feel her hand, see her piercing eyes. His mind wandered back to her momentary lapse, when she'd allowed herself to mold into him. What he..._they_ were feeling as music overtook her good judgement was perfect. But for now, he set his hopes of conquest aside and played. He knew his head would be clearer after releasing his thoughts into the air.

* * *

"Mama, how is Nadir? The baby?" Meg's cheery voice over the phone brought a smile to Mrs. Giry's face. Even alone in another country, she was still her Meg.

"Nadir is at work, and sends his love. Madeleine is napping. She was very fussy last night. I'm glad to hear you're well, Meg."

"Mama, is there something wrong? Normally, you're demanding to know my progress in dance and whether I've allowed a boy to come within ten feet of me. Very well and no, by the way." Even another continent away, Meg was silly and sweet and lovely. Mrs. Giry realized with a pang how much she missed her girl. But, a little matter was weighing on her mind and she needed a young lady's opinion.

"Meg, what would a boy do with a rose? Not a dozen, just one long-stemmed rose." It sounded ridiculous, and she felt she'd turn red when Meg laughed over the phone.

"Is Nadir trying to woo you all over again?" Her voice mocked a devious tone, "Or perhaps a new man's entered the scene?"

"Meg, I'm starting to think your going overseas to study was a mistake. You're becoming far too lax and undisciplined -"

"I'm sorry, Mama," Meg quickly interjected. When her mother took that tone, it wasn't wise to tease. "It was a joke. A bad one. About your question though...well, it's odd of you to ask, but I think- I think this boy wants to give it to someone. A special kind of someone. It's a sweet gesture."

"I see..." Her theory reaffirmed, Mrs. Giry allowed herself to indulge in conversation with Meg. It had been so long since she'd heard of the latest techniques being used in the London ballet, and she was in too good a mood to waste with laundry.

* * *

As he drove back, the notes still rang in him. Erik had made ground on his piece and it thrilled him. The melody seemed to unlock itself from some strange place, and the notes had come flooding out from him. But the lyrics, he knew, came from another place entirely. They came from thinking of a muse made flesh.

He was thus distracted when his cell phone rang. He looked at the screen and was not pleasantly surprised to see the Daroga's number flashing. "Hello, Daroga. Calling for more of my friendly chatter?"

"Christine Daae." The words had their desired impact. Erik became serious, clutching the phone just a little tighter.

"What of her?" _Keep complete apathy._ "I paid you, your job is done."

"It seems she wasn't as friendless as you'd have liked. Someone came by and tried to file a missing person report." The detective was annoyed, but he tried to pay close attention to his reaction over the phone. He noted a shift in his breathing, but no outburst came.

"And what happened?"

"Well, he's not family, and she's of legal age so he can't really file it. All signs point to her going on her backpacking trip through Europe. Raoul De Chagny's the only one not buying it."

"And why not? I did ask you to be thorough." _Calm...remain as you are. Raoul Chagny is none of my concern._

"He recently discovered she'd been living here, and has been looking for her since. He says he's certain she wouldn't do something foolish like run off to Europe without telling _someone_ where she'd be." Nadir lit a cigarette and breathed in the smoke.

"Well, he can think what he likes. He can't trace her, and he can't prove she's not on vacation. Daroga, why would you think him a threat to warn me of?" _An insignificant boy, whom she's never even mentioned before-_

"That boy won't give up on her. The way he looked when he spoke of her...it seems like you've killed someone very dear to him." If he could have seen Erik's face at that moment, perhaps he would have been kinder with his words. As he could not, however, the Persian snorted in distaste. "I hope you're proud, Erik. It's not just your life you ruin- you've harmed _theirs_."

This was too much. He wanted to explode into irrationality, but he held back. The detective was on the other line, and would be quick to investigate any abnormality in Erik's stoic demeanor. "Sermons, my old friend, should be reserved for those who can be saved."

Nadir tossed his cigarette. "I just can't help trying. Antoinette's influence, I'm sure. I'll leave you to your solitude. Good night."

Erik was grateful that his detective had hung up when he did. The anger welling up had to be let out. He slammed his fist on the car roof. Once, twice, over and over until the pain overwhelmed him more than his burning envy. He clutched the wheel and took in heaving breaths. _Foolish, very foolish. _

He caught his image in the rear view mirror, panting and angry. His face was still near-perfect. _Near-perfect, and hideous at the same time. Is his face very handsome? All of this time, was she even thinking of **me **when she-_

"Think of Me," he felt bile rise at the words. Erik heard her voice, so kind. He remembered her nervous look.

_"It's sad, I think. I can imagine someone like me, singing to someone she can't physically reach." She looked up to him, hoping he understood what she was trying to explain. "She remembers him. She thinks of him. But, will he ever think of her? She wants him to, even if she's not there with him anymore." _

He decided. Opening the car door and slamming it behind him, he walked quickly to the apartment. _No useless promises, no flowers. _He was not sure of what he'd do once he opened that door, but he was certain he'd disappoint her. He'd make her cry, the way he wanted to but could not. And then he'd make her stay with him anyway. Forever.

* * *

The door opened with a click, and he ploughed through to the den. He stood and watched Christine at the piano only for a second. "Christine," he called in a deadpan voice. She turned to him, surprise and a little quiver on her lips. Then, a smile. It stopped him from bringing down all of his feelings to crush her. 

"Erik!" She brought her hands to her mouth to stifle her wide grin. "I know you didn't think I was ready to start this song again, but look how much better I've become!" She turned and her playing began.

_Not this song, Christine,_ he moaned to himself, _you don't know how it will anger me_. She sang, and though he dreaded the sound, it was pure and clear, and he found himself drawn out of his anger and towards her. She was smiling throughout the song, bright and unbefitting the hidden sadness in what she was singing. _Be proud of me,_ she seemed to say.

Once she'd ended the song, she stood and waited for him to speak. Since he remained silent, her smile faded a little. "Was I very off this time? I tried to play like you did, but-" She stopped and watched him again.

"We'll keep practicing. You need more training," he watched her features darken a little and sighed. "But it's much better than before. It was beautiful."

If he'd have known how she'd react to something as silly as a compliment from him, Erik might have done it sooner. She practically glowed, looking like some kind of angel. "Do you really mean it, Erik?"

"You know me well enough to know I don't like flattery."

"I know," she accepted his reasoning, to his astonishment. She wrung her hands gently and nodded her head. "But you don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that." Her sincere eyes disarmed any remaining desire to cause more suffering. He dropped his violin case and shook off his jacket.

"I'm making dinner. Keep playing, I'll let you know when it's ready." He didn't wait for her reply, but heard the piano as he went about fixing dinner. _I've made her this happy, with only a few words._ The girl who feared him would evolve and mature. _Fear can turn to love. It's happening right now_. As he heard her sing he could feel her presence. She was not afraid of him anymore, and that lent him new resolve. _She is not going to leave me. Ever._

* * *

A/N: Dun dun dun!Erik knows Raoul is out there...he knows something is up, but he's not about to let her go without a fight! Please review! It helps me get the writing flow going! 


	13. Music of the Night

A/N: Chapter 13! Thank you all so much for the continued support. I didn't think anyone would really read this, so I'm touched that so many people actually did. Chapter 11 and 12 have set up a nice situation, and I'm perpetuating here. Enjoy and review...pweese?

Disclaimer: If I owned PotO, I'd have an island in the Caribbean and a cabana boy named Erik who could sing like Michael Crawford...or maybe I'd just own Michael Crawford :) Since I don't, however, I write fanfiction.

Ch 13

* * *

"103 degrees." Erik read the thermometer carefully. "You're not getting out of bed today."

"This is ridiculous," Christine cried, and Erik couldn't agree more. He'd woken up to see her weakly clutching the kitchen table after getting a glass of water. Apparently, she'd been physically sick the night before, weakening her, but he hadn't heard a thing. _Damn deep sleep,_ he thought to himself. He'd helped her to bed and taken her temperature, but Erik knew little of bedside manner or assisting others. All he could do was to take her temperature and set a course of action to make her better soon. He sighed and looked down at Christine.

"Stay in bed. No music practice today. I'll make some tea and find some medicine." He was about to walk out of the room when he turned a moment, a frown on his face. "Don't get out of bed." He closed the door softly behind him, and Christine resigned herself. With a small sigh she closed her eyes and laid her head back down on the pillows.

* * *

"103 degrees, Erik? Well," Mrs. Giry sighed from her end of the line, "while it's not terribly serious, it sounds like you have a nasty case of influenza. It's probably been brewing for a while. Are you going to the hospital?" Her question bothered him more than he wanted to admit. To take her outside his walls was dangerous, the police and this_...Raoul_ waited there but if she was suffering...

"Is it necessary?"

"...no." He breathed in relief. "Just keep the fever down and drink lots of liquid. Broth and crackers, if you can keep them down, will help. Do you have any medicine? Ibuprofen is a good fever reducer, but don't expect miracles."

"How long should it last?"

"Two days, if you get plenty of rest. But I am surprised, Erik," she admitted. "I thought you almost never became ill."

"Mrs. Giry, I've been keeping late hours. I suppose it finally caught up to me." He heard the tea kettle whistle. "I'll have to repay you for your consultation soon."

"Don't worry, it's an amateur's. But would you like me to send Nadir to look in on you tonight? Or perhaps I-"

"No, I'm perfectly fine on my own. Besides, I shudder at the thought of our dear detective as my nurse." He heard her give a small laugh. They were rare, and he rather enjoyed the light sound. It reminded him of a wind chime.

"All right, Erik. But call tonight or I really will send him over." With that, Mrs. Giry hung up. Erik placed his phone back in his pants pocket, along with the keys to the large front door and his bedroom. He began to prepare the tea, and looked over into his kitchen cupboard. At the top shelf he found his first-aid box. He found the bottle of ibuprofen and set it on the tray. Wondering if that would be enough, he decided he'd stop by the pharmacy for more medications on his way back from the music lab. _She has to get sick the day it's my turn to use it,_ he thought miserably to himself. But he couldn't stay. He'd finally finished the song as he wanted, and he couldn't let it go. It would be perfect, and then she'd hear it. He wanted her to be the first to hear the song. He picked up the tray and carried it to her room.

* * *

He watched Christine as he set down the tray. Her eyes were groggy, her brow feverish. But she'd smiled to him as he poured her tea, with a little slice of lemon on the side, as she usually took it. She sat up on her pillows and he set the tray on her lap.

"Thank you." She said as he opened the cap on the medicine and set two on the saucer. She took a sip of her tea, thankful that it was not as sweet as she normally took it. It would have been sickening otherwise.

"Take two of these now with your tea, and two more in four hours." Erik instructed her.

"You...you have class." She tried to sound like she was stating a fact, admonishing him for staying as long as he was. Somehow, she felt a well-known twinge of disappointment. Had she really expected him to stay? Maybe sing her to sleep? She smiled brightly when he didn't answer. "I won't keep you. Go, or you'll be late."

He nodded his head, and after reminding her she needed to stay in bed and bringing her a pitcher of cool water and a glass from the kitchen, left. But as he drove, he saw the disappointment that had clearly spread through her features. Whether he felt touched or guilty for it, the image remained until he reached school grounds.

* * *

Erik was walked into the music lab. He took a look at the soundboard, and the piano on the other side of the glass. He'd dreamed of this moment, recording the music he'd been dreaming up for so long. It was just one song, but it entranced him. It was as if he'd developed his own niche, like Coltrane or Bach. His music leaned towards the classical and operatic, but there was a _darkness_ melding into it and making it his own. With some small rearrangement to the console, he was ready to proceed. He was going to make Christine understand why he'd left her side. Gently he raised the bow of his violin and began.

* * *

"Sir, if you'll just look-"

"Mr. Chagny-" The detective began.

"Raoul."

"Raoul, then. The missing person's division has file cabinet's filled with missing people who really are missing. Your friend-"

"Well, she's missing too." Raoul pulled out a photograph of a small girl and boy, sitting together on a porch swing.

"Is this Christine Daae?" The detective watched the boy. Of course he knew the answer, but he had to humor the boy.

"Ten years ago. Now," he pulled out a printed photo. "she looks like this."

Raoul's devotion to the girl struck the detective. There were no creases on the older picture, as if it had remained carefully preserved in a picture frame, only to come out now to demonstrate his desperation. Nadir had to admit she was pretty, and had become quite beautiful as she'd matured. He'd seen her photographs as he'd erased her out of existence, but this one was quite nice. She was dressed up, receiving an award for third place in a music competition. _A musician, like Erik. Same school, too._ He wondered why he'd so easily ignored these facts. Perhaps his mind had been more focused on his wife's pregnancy and offsetting costs. He noticed Raoul was looking at him hopefully, and Nadir only shook his head. To give the boy hope, when he himself already knew Ms. Daae's unfortunate end, seemed too cruel.

"I'm afraid I have my hands full on a different case."

Raoul refused to take his photograph of the older Christine as he left. "Please, if you find her, let me know." Without even accepting, Nadir had been recruited for the fruitless search and become further enmeshed in Erik's mess. He placed the photograph in his desk drawer and continued his paperwork, deciding it was best not to think too much on the dead.

* * *

Christine woke up from a fitful nap. The fever that had spread through her body was still burning her up. Even with the medicine, she felt the heat. In her discomfort, she began to resent Erik for leaving her alone. She was sick, and he was the only person in the world she had access to. _So why didn't he stay?_ She wondered what she'd want of him if he _had_ stayed. A song, in that soft voice, like when she'd heard his _Ave Maria_. _A song...and maybe his sleeve_. She'd become so used to giving his sleeve a soft tug when she was too nervous to trust her words, and now she found it comforting. _Does he think it's childish_? She looked at her hands. _But I've held his hand before...maybe he'd take mine-_

She shrugged off the covers, relishing the temporary cool the act provided her. Content to just lie in bed and be a little cooler, she didn't hear the door open, or the whir of the sound system as a cd was inserted. Only the violin's song, joined by the piano, roused her. Then, as she'd begun to stir, a voice filled the entire apartment.

_Nighttime sharpens,_

_Heightens each sensation_

_Darkness wakes,_

_And stirs imagination_

_Silently the senses_

_Abandon their defenses_

His song filled the whole house, but before she could try to rush out of the room to see him, Erik was at her doorway. His eyes only saw her and he held his hand out to her when she tried to get out of bed, continuing to sing to her. She went to him, and held his crystal gaze. His song was for her, and his eyes seemed to say that to her.

_Slowly, gently_

_Night unfurls its splendor_

_Grasp it, sense it_

_Tremulous and tender_

_Hearing is believing,_

_Music is deceiving-_

_Hard as lightning,_

_Soft as candlelight._

_Dare you trust the music of the night_?

She was aware of how close she was to Erik, but did not care. _That voice... _She'd follow his voice anywhere. It was impossible to deny him, not when she could not find it in herself to struggle.

_Close your eyes,_

_For your eyes will only tell the truth,_

_And the truth isn't what you want to see._

_In the dark it is easy to pretend_

_That the truth is what it ought to be._

That statement was lost to her in her present state, but the words were writing themselves into her. Heartbeat racing, Christine could only obey the music, and follow Erik. She closed her eyes, and felt Erik all around her.

_Softly, deftly music shall caress you._

_Fear it, feel it secretly possess you-_

_Open up your mind,_

_Let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness,_

_Which you know you cannot fight-_

_The darkness of the music of the night._

New energy rushed into his song, and she heard it, let it resonate through her. His hold on her became stronger, but never lost its gentility.

_Close your eyes, start a journey through a strange new world,_

_Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before._

_Close your eyes and let music set you free!_

_Only then can you belong to me..._

There was a sincerity she'd learned not to expect in Erik, an openness. It was both painful and beautiful to hear. She'd somehow been turned so her back lay flush against him. He took her hand and brought it to the left side of his face, his other snaking around her waist. It was so warm to her, but not uncomfortably so. It was the electrical current from before, now a thousand times stronger. He was guiding her with song, guarding her with his own body.

_Floating, falling sweet intoxication._

_Touch me, trust me,_

_Savor each sensation._

_Let the dream begin _

_Let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write,_

_The power of the music of the night_

_It's burning hot._ Whether because of the intensity of the music or Erik's presence or the fever, Christine felt herself falling into a deep and sudden sleep. It was not unpleasant, but indeed like stepping into some wondrous darkness. Erik was right there to catch her as she fainted, and lay her gently on her bed. His hand strayed once more to her cheek as he sang, but he did not feel any disgust. Only longing.

_You alone can make my song take flight..._

_Help me make the music of the night._

* * *

A/N: I had lots of fun writing this, and I hope you liked the incorporation of the song into this. Read and review! I do love to read reviews. They spur me on to write and update! 


	14. Damn You

A/N: Thanks to all reviewers! I can't believe so many of you are sticking by me with this story. I'm ultra-happy I have so many frequent reviewer/readers, too.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my soul (retail value...how much would having Michael Crawford as my cabana boy cost?)

Ch.14

* * *

Erik awoke to a startling realization. _I'm not in my room._ He sat in a chair next to Christine's bed. Vaguely he remembered how after he'd sung her to sleep he'd remained by her side. As her fever suddenly flared in the middle of the night, he'd woken her up to give her a cool glass of water and a fever reducer, then washed her face with a cool cloth. She'd watched him with eyes half-closed in sleep. But as he'd pulled his hand away, she'd reached out for it.

_"Erik." Even from her scorched throat, his name sounded so musical. He'd taken her hand and nodded to her._

_"I won't leave you. Now sleep." She'd hardly heard him when she'd drifted back off again. _

Before nodding off himself, Erik had studied her trusting, sleeping face. She'd reminded him so much of Sleeping Beauty just then, locked away and dreaming of the prince who'd someday appear to free her. The fact that he was not the hero of her fairy tale was the only thing that had kept him from stealing another caress under night's cover. Instead he'd contented himself with her hand, and slept near her.

Now he watched her as it approached late morning. Gently he pried his hand from hers, and brought it up to feel her forehead. Still warm, but nowhere near as bad as last night. He could relax, knowing she was getting better rather than deteriorating. He hadn't been negligent in not going to the hospital. She was recovering safely with him, trusting him to watch over her. He'd sung to her, and she'd come to him. It had been bold, to discard the distance he'd worked so hard to keep with everyone, for her. But she'd listened, and willingly held fast to him. She hadn't called out for a hospital the night before- she'd called for _him_. To touch her, to have her follow him, and to see her savoring his song so, was more than he'd dreamed of. The way things were progressing, a little hope did not seem unfathomable. Slowly but surely, Erik was taking her into the darkness.

"Erik?" She watched him curiously as he looked at her, her eyes darting in nervousness. "You-you stayed here?"

"I said I would." Her embarrassment was infectious.Under her gaze, he felt the desire to cover up the tracks of the past night. He stood. "I'll leave you to your morning routine. I'll prepare some soup." He left her to her thoughts.

* * *

Christine raised a hand to her temple and sighed, willing herself to focus. _I remember he sang to me last night...until I fell asleep. And then I woke up, and he was still here._ He'd done everything she'd wanted, and Christine hadn't even asked. Cooling her off, holding her hand in a soft grip- she felt the worry in his actions. After all this time, Erik remained such a mystery to her. Could she dare to call the expression he'd worn as he held her hand tenderness? How could she, when she'd seen those same green eyes glowing with hellfire? _Tender and cruel, giver and taker- which is the real Erik?_ It was as if he wore a mask she could not tear away with physical strength of any kind. But she wanted to pry it loose, to see what him for what he really was. _Maybe then I'd understand..._

She stood slowly, and began to get ready. Even though she still felt a little ill, the prospect of food sent a growl through her stomach. Erik, whether friend or foe, was an excellent cook, and that was all that mattered to her for the moment.

* * *

"I could have brought breakfast to your bed." His voice scolded, seemed annoyed. Inwardly, he was pleased by her recovery. He watched her take another spoonful of the chicken soup he'd made. 

"I'm not deathly ill, Erik. And it feels nice to be out of my room for a bit." She closed her eyes and stifled a yawn. "Though I still feel tired."

"Then I won't push you to practice." He watched Christine's unreadable expression. Her hand set the spoon down, and she clutched the napkin slightly. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "What is it, Christine?"

Her eyes looked almost guilty as she looked up to him. Her pretty mouth contorted a moment, trying to find the right words. "Thank you." He remained stoically observing her, awaiting further explanation. "You've been...," She felt color rise to her cheeks, "While I've been sick, you've been really- well, you've been very kind to me." She managed a shy smile under her blush. "So... thank you, Erik."

He picked up his bowl and headed for the sink. "I fully intend to run you ragged during lessons when you're well again, to make up for this lapse." He'd slipped back into his apathetic behavior, but he couldn't do anything else. Not when she'd been so beautiful, pale green dress offsetting the glory of her brown hair, eyes so set to prove the sincerity of her gratitude. He _had_ to get away suddenly as she laid down her defenses, no night to cover them or music to distract her from his repulsive body.

But she gave a small laugh. Not one she expected him to hear or gave for him, but a genuine one. The first he'd heard her give in his home. Forgetting himself, he turned to stare at her. She, realizing he'd noticed, covered her mouth apologetically with a hand. "Oh, I didn't mean- it was just what I expected you to say. 'I intend to run you ragged to make up for this', or something along those lines." Childishly her hand went to her eyes, blinding her to any reaction Erik might have at that as if it would make her invisible. She didn't want him frowning at her silly ways. "I know, I know...my voice is very important, and I need to study seriously. And I am."

"But it's also important not to damage your instrument." His voice came so close to her that she shuddered. Before she could remove her hand from her eyes, she felt his fingers at her throat. An involuntary moment of panic dawned on her, only to be replaced with relief. His hands, unlike days before, were kind. She could feel it in the reverence of the pressure of his fingers- so light, as if he were using only a feather. "Being ill can't be good for your voice, Christine. Be sure to rest today, just to be safe." With that, Christine felt him slip away from her. She uncovered her eyes to find him down on one knee, watching her. _He's so odd._

Neither moved. Chrsitine could not find it in herself to remove herself from her seat, and Erik awaited her reaction. "All right," she faintly replied, more interested by his eyes and the earlier actions of his long fingers than what he'd just said. Her own fingers itched to touch his face again, now that it was so close. She remembered how he'd guided her hand to his cheek last night, but now she was alert, and would be able to trace his features, to remember the feel of his pale skin. _So pretty...like a bisque doll..._ Her hand raised itself only slightly from her lap, her fingers beginning to stretch out. _What's underneath everything --_

"Well then, you'd better take your medicine and lie down." He broke his gaze from her and stood, picking up her dishes. "I have some books sitting around the den. Find something you'd like." She watched him return to his mechanical routine, and her hand dropped down. She stood and accepted the pill and glass of water from him. _What was that just now?_ Handing the glass back to Erik, she knew he barely noticed her now. Wordlessly she walked back into her room.

* * *

Confined once again to her bed, she quickly became bored. With no desire to read, all she could find to do was to stretch and think. She listened for him outside her room, and once assured Erik wouldn't be coming in anytime soon, she reached into her drawer for what she'd hid there nights ago. Long since withered, but still unable to throw it away, Christine looked at the rose. It was dear to her, physical proof that one night had actually happened. _That he looked a me with such eyes...and I was not afraid._ She cupped the flower's petals and brought it to her face, drinking in the fading scent. Tenderly she laid it next to her on the pillow and turned to her side to look at it. Her fingers slowly ran over the ridges of the petals, even as she began to drift into sleep. _Did I expect to ever feel such peace in his home? _

* * *

Had she just tried to touch him? Erik wondered at the idea, but he'd seen her hand raise itself as if she were going to touch his cheek. But she'd never touched him! His sleeve, his hand a few times, but never his face. While he'd guided her hand over it last night, she'd been in a dreamlike state, susceptible to his song. She'd never asked or wanted a touch of such intimacy. _Then what was--?_

The sound of his cell phone's ring tone took him away from his thoughts. He followed the tone until he found the phone abandoned in his chair. An annoyed sigh escaped him. _The Daroga..._ He flipped it open. "Yes?"

"Is that impersonal greeting all I get from you, Erik?" The detective held his phone in his hand as he lcoked up his office and headed home. His wife had been bothering him about Erik all day, asking him to check up on the ill family friend. He'd only now remembered, and decided he'd be able to tell with a phone call whether Erik needed to go to the hospital. "And here I am, worried sick about your declining health."

"I'm touched," Erik replied in a tone that was anything but. Christine was sleeping soundly, but he couldn't know she was beginning to stir in the other room.

"Antoinette was worried," Nadir admitted, "she always worries about you, Erik."

"I never asked her to." A straight, quick reply. It was true- he'd never asked her for her pity or tolerance.

"You're still as incredibly dense as you were when I first met you." Anger flared in Nadir, mostly because Erik could still not accept what his wife had been freely giving him all along. The fact that he, too, wanted to give him the same thing bothered him only minimally. "Do _you_ still remember?"

"I try not to dwell on it. I thought very little of you then." Erik's answer only reaffirmed his thoughts on the boy's health. _He'll live._

"Are you saying you think better of me now, Erik?"

"I suppose since you now think better of me, I should return the favor-"

"Then don't." All mirth disappeared from the detective's voice. He turned the key in the ignition and started his car. Before pulling out of the lot, he took a small notebook out from his coat pocket and flipped it open. "Christine Daae's information. I never really read it before. She was 19. Eyes: brown. Hair: brown. Height-"

"Yes, I know all this. Daroga, why-"

"A future soprano-" Nadir continued, "-parents lost almost two years ago, alone in this world, except for her music. Her music," he stopped to sigh, "and one man, whom she never knew wanted to find her so badly. He stops by her apartment complex every day, hoping someone's heard from her." The silence on the other end of the line gave him leave to continue, and ill or not, Nadir was not going to drop this. "I imagine, if you'd never had anything to do with her life, their reunion would have been a very happy one. Perhaps he would have helped to ease the pain of her loss. Unlike you, Erik, she's lost loved ones."

"I've felt loss," his quiet defense.

"Not like hers. Nothing like hers." It was all cruelty and no kindness, the detective knew, but it was necessary. I'm _creating guilt to restore humanity_._ A tough, angry lesson for a prodigal son..._

"You understand nothing." Erik's growl surprised him. "You, Antoinette, you've allowed me to continue living, but you don't understand."

"Then for God's sake, tell me!" He shouted into the phone. Had he ever yelled like this at Erik since _that_ night? No, but he would not hold back. An innocent girl was dead. All affection or pity for the boy would only get in the way.

"Leave me be Daroga. I've cut myself as much as necessary from you and your affairs. It should be enough." Erik was sick of this conversation. It was more serious than what he'd come to expect from the Persian. He was so wrapped up in trying to end it that he didn't hear soft footsteps behind him, her soft breath.

"You don't cut yourself from friends! Lord, do you even understand something like friendship?" Exasperation exuded from him. "What people are capable of, all for the sake of the ones they care for?"

"As your valiant Raoul De Chagny attempts by haunting her apartment until she returns?" Erik's voice was dead with weariness. He wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room and play at his violin until this all disappeared, but the detective would not leave him be. "I'm sorry I don't measure up, Daroga, but you know why that is impossible. It's as impossible as his search for her."

"Erik?" Her soft voice cut through all his anger with a chilling speed. He turned, knowing his mistake too late. She'd woken up, and heard the boy's name. He hung up on the detective quickly. _Shit._

"Go rest, Christine. You're still sick." He'd tried to sound uninterested, but even he heard the lie in his voice. She shook her head and came forward.

"Don't patronize me. Please, I need to know." Her fingers knotted into themselves. "Is Raoul here?"

The hope shining in her eyes tore at him. Erik wanted to make her happy, but not like this. Without lashing out at her, he answered. "And if he is?"

"Then-then let me..." She knew what he'd say, but not what he'd do. Christine swallowed. "...Let me see him." As he turned away from her, the desire to see Raoul made her beg. "Please! I haven't seen him for so long. I didn't even know he was here." Her voice grew a little quiet. "Please, Erik. I want to see him."

His answer was almost a growl. "No." _I refuse to lose you now._ Just like that, her face fell. Her mouth opened, then closed, unsure of what to say to make him understand.

"Erik, I've never asked you to let me go. Not since that first night. But I've wanted to find him, ever since my father passed away-"

"Why, so he could take his place as your new protector?" A snide comment, laced with the jealousy threatening to overwhelm him.

"Erik!" She placed her hand on his shoulder and turned him to face her. She closed the gap between them. "What do I have to do to make you understand?"

"Nothing, Christine. There's nothing you can do or say to make me change my mind. I never told you I'd let you go. I never gave you any false hope. Your life is here." _With me. _He placed his hand as gently as he could on her shoulders. "Forget him." He didn't wince as her fist made contact with his chest. The light thuds weren't painful to him. It was the tears in her eyes that bothered him.

"Damn you!" She cried out. "I'll never forgive you for this!" She choked on a sob, as he took her wrists in his hands and pulled her closer. "I'll never forgive you."

"In time-"

"No!" She cried out, trying to free her wrists with a twist. "Never. I won't forget how terrible you've-" A shake jarred her thoughts. She saw him glaring angrily at her. Not the same anger she'd known before, but still threatening.

"Fine! Think me the devil or some poor, terrible bastard! But you won't ever leave me!" he cried out at her, and she ceased her struggling. His voice was barely audible now, dead and hopeful all at the same time. "I don't care if you'll never forgive me, if you'll never choose to stay willingly, but I want you...here..." his breath burned on her exposed wrists, "...with me."

* * *

A/N: Did she hear that? Will she still insist on seeing Raoul? Read and find out! 

By the way, reviews really help the creative writing process hint hint :)


	15. Twisted Every Way

A/N: Chapter 15! Now we see what Christine's really made of.

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Disclaimer: I got soul...and nothing else...

* * *

There was silence between them, while Christine's tears slipped quietly down her face and Erik faced what he'd just said. She couldn't understand him. Although they'd already been through so much, why couldn't he trust her not to go running to the police? And why did he want her to stay?

"Why?" Christine finally asked. "Why do you want me to stay?"

Erik closed his eyes. What to tell her..._'I love you and I won't let anyone else take you away.' _It would scare her, and change the life he had with her forever. He'd lie, cheat, and murder to protect her from the truth. Christine was not ready to hear such words from him. "Because...your voice is too valuable to me." He'd released her wrists and taken a step away from her. "You're so close to achieving what we've set out to do. I can't allow you to ruin that because of some fling."

Christine glared at him. "How dare you! You don't know anything about me, about Raoul."

"Enlighten me, then. What is he to you?" This inquiry was met with angry silence. He wondered if she'd answer at all when he heard her sigh.

"Raoul...was my childhood friend. And the last link I have to my father."

"Are you certain that's all you are?" He wanted so badly to believe her, but feared she was lying to try and persuade him to change his mind. None of her anger had dissipated, and she was irritated at his disbelief.

"I haven't seen or heard from him since we were children. He was one of my father's students, before his Aunt took him away to some private school."

"Is that why you think he's your 'last link', Christine?"

"He has my father's violin." Her voice was at once clear of all reproach and tinged with sadness.

"What?" His genuine surprise overrode his suspicion. _Her father's violin?_

"Father's very first violin, given to his prize student as a parting gift. Try as I may, Raoul always was more skilled." She covered her face with her hands a moment and took a deep breath. "I was jealous. Maybe I still am. But when he and my mother passed away, I wanted to track him down and ask him for the violin. Even if it really should belong to him." She looked up at him a moment, trying to see his reaction. "You might not understand, but I want to have something he loved with me, since I can't have him."

Erik didn't reply, but he understood more than she could imagine. "Calm yourself, Christine." He placed a hand on her forehead and noted her fever was only a slight one now, nearly nonexistent. "You need rest. I'll bring you something cool to drink and more medicine."

She took his hand calmly off of her forehead, and shook her head. "I meant what I said. I won't forget." With that, she walked with as much dignity as she could muster to her room. She ran in and laid herself face-down on her bed and, alone again, allowed herself to cry loudly into her pillow.

* * *

The choice to believe her or not weighed on his mind. He would not let her go, this much he knew, but whether her heart remained as unoccupied as he'd originally thought or had always belonged to Raoul, he could not tell. Her words, her sorrow, it stung him. To understand her and still deny her was just rubbing salt into the wound.

She was crying, Erik did not have to hear the sound of her sobs to know. _Maybe I could get the violin for her._ He had the daroga as an unwilling asset- a call to him and he'd have an address- and his skills as a locksmith, learned in the silent studies of his childhood, to help him. It wouldn't be so hard. _Not as hard as letting her go._ As he approached her door to bring her this idea, he heard her muffled crying. He was about to knock, when he heard her strained voice.

"Raoul." She wept bitter, angry tears, all the while wanting _him_!

It hardened him. He would not knock on her door, grovel and entreat her with favors. Not when her mind was so far from him. Instead he backed away and took his car keys from their hook. He felt a sudden need for a stiff drink and distance from her.

* * *

She'd cried herself to sleep, but when she woke up Christine didn't have to leave her room to know he'd gone. No music played, no book was offered her, and he hadn't entered her room without knocking. After washing her face and brushing her hair, she felt better. Even the fever had finally ebbed away, leaving only a slight headache that some ibuprofen would quickly take care of.

It was so quiet. She sat on the sofa, flipping through the books Erik had left there to pass the time. Though she didn't want to see him, being alone in the apartment was stifling. As she moved to pick up a textbook, another book dropped to the floor. _Paradise Lost_. With a little reluctance she picked it up and looked at its cover, a painting of the Tree of Knowledge. She remembered how she'd fought with Erik over the passage she'd stopped at, and felt a small bulge in between the pages. Opening the book, she saw her pink ribbon, holding someone's place. Right at that same passage that had moved her so.

_Of her Eve loose tresses hid: he Adam in delight _

_Both of her beauty, and submissive charms, _

_Smiled with superiour love, as Jupiter _

_On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds _

_That shed Mayflowers; and pressed her matron lip _

_With kisses pure: Aside the Devil turned _

_For envy; yet with jealous leer malign _

_Eyed them askance, and to himself thus plained. _

_Sight hateful, sight tormenting! thus these two, _

_Imparadised in one another's arms, _

_The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill _

_Of bliss on bliss; while I to Hell am thrust, _

_Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire, _

_Among our other torments not the least, _

_Still unfulfilled with pain of longing pines... _

And in the margin of the passage, something handwritten in dark red ink:

_She fair, divinely fair, fit love for Gods! _

_Is Eve really so unreachable and beautiful to Erik?_ She picked up the ribbon and looked it over, recognizing it as her own. She put it behind her and tied her dark curls with it. _Why? _There was no way she could distinguish what she wanted to question- there was too much. His kindness, his cruelty, his secretive ways- it all evaded her.

* * *

The large front door slamming shut signaled Erik's return. Christine stood, putting the book down. She was unsure of what either would do, but couldn't force herself to go into hiding.

He stood just as always, aloof and defiant, but the unmistakable scent of alcohol was permeating the room. Christine looked at him, horrified. She'd never expected _this_ from her arrogant captor.

"You're drunk."

"As always, so perceptive." Sarcasm was not a weapon he'd used against her before, but he was reveling in his self-pity. It was justified to make her cringe as he had.

"You don't usually drink, Erik." As he stumbled past her to slump into his armchair, she shook her head. "I don't think you should drink this much again."

"No, of course not," Erik muttered, "I'm sure your precious little playfellow doesn't drink at all."

"I wouldn't know," she replied, trying not to get angry at a drunk. "But you should change and hurry to bed. Tomorrow you-"

"Since when do you give such a damn about me? Miss Daae, are you so simple, throwing angry words around and then forgetting all about them?" He waved his hand in drunken indifference. "Aren't you ill? Go rest and dream of the far-off prince you so long to see." He didn't recognize her confusion, beginning to settle into a drowsy state. The one drink he'd initially taken had turned into several, and he'd walked his drunken and sorry self home. He was tired, too tired to hear her entreat him further for her boy. "Just leave, Christine." Little did he realize that the last words he'd spoken to her before dropping into a half-sleep would be taken to heart.

* * *

What temptation Christine felt! He was dead to the world, the first time he'd ever slept before her, and she _knew_ the keys were somewhere on him. _Is my fear the only thing stopping me from-_-_? If I fail, if he wakes up, everything is over..._ She knew her fears so well, and knew how little chance she might have. But, like Eve stretching for the apple, Christine approached Erik's sleeping form. She knelt by him, looking up into his half-closed eyes. It frightened her to see even a glimpse of those eyes, but they did not move to follow her hand. They were glossed over, not noticing her at all.

Just making contact with his coat made her want to move away in guilt. How inappropriate this was to her, but she knew it was the only way. Her hand explored the pockets, one after the other, until she felt something cold and metallic. Her heart nearly stopped, and as she pulled it out, she knew these were not the keys. In her hand lay the cold, thin wire she'd seen on that terrible night, so long ago. Unable to bring herself to set it back in its place, with a shaking hand she stuffed it into her skirt pocket. _Oh God..._

She had to look away from his face. If she was going to continue, she could not look into those dead eyes. Again, her hand sought that small ring of keys. She had to find them, had to leave this place. _Will he be all right? _She shook her head. _He stole the world from me...hurt me.._ As the keys fell out of her trembling hand, she did not know if she could betray him. _Teacher, perhaps friend. _Taking the keys, Christine stood and walked slowly away from Erik and towards the door. One of these three unlocked the outside world. Quivering, she guided the first into the lock.

* * *

_"Christine."_ She gasped as she heard his soft voice, and had to turn. No movement or other sound came. _Be quick,_ she reminded herself,_ if he wakes up..._She turned the key, and heard the click. On her first try, she'd found the key. Elation should have filled her as the door opened and she felt the breeze of the night on her face, but instead she felt guilt. _I'm leaving...I'm really leaving?_ She longed to run, to go home and sleep in her bed once again. More than that, she wanted to find Raoul. _But I can't ever come back..._ Fear of his swift anger kept her from looking back, and the fear of separation kept her from taking one step outside. _Twisted every way..._

_"-you won't ever leave me!"_

She remembered, and instinct took over. Without even leaving the keys behind, she ran into the night.

* * *

A/N: Yay, she's freed herself. Now...would Erik _really _leave himself that open, so that Christine could find the keys? Read and discover what Christine will do, and what Erik will plan. Oh, and review- it makes me very, very happy to read the reviews. I promise to update as soon as I can if you do! 


	16. Let it be War

A/N: She's gone, and now Erik acts! He's not going to be very happy, I must warn you...

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Disclaimer: I own nothing but the hell I cause the characters.

* * *

He'd known her plan the moment Christine had searched his eyes. When her hand clumsily rummaged his pockets that intuition had merely been affirmed. Instead of stopping her, Erik allowed this to happen. Not moving, keeping breathing regular, he actually worked at his game of pretend. _Do you want to leave so desperately, Christine?_

**_Can you blame her,_** something inside seethed, **_when she's never wanted to be with you from the start?_**

He felt her still as she felt something in one pocket that she hadn't expected. _Yes, Christine, I still carry that._ She paled, and her trembling hand had put it away in her skirt. After that, her eyes didn't look at him anymore, only the task at hand.

_**Is she even more disgusted now? She's so eager to just run out that door... but I won't let her go so easily.**_

She found the keys, and moved away without another glance. His heart beat loudly in his ears, but he could still hear her fidget with the keys. Against his darker judgement, his lips parted a little, and he called out to her. "_Christine,"_ he whispered with tenderness. _Don't do this...don't make this choice..._ All hope, all delusions he might have had of her affection, shattered as the lock clicked open.

_**Will you let her go unharmed? Maybe to the police?**_

_It's her choice to go now..._ The door slamming shut signaled her departure. Erik stood, anger evaporating any trace of drunkenness from his body. _I know where she'll go..._

**_But she will suffer. For the hurt you feel, she needs a proper punishment._** Erik could not find it in himself to disagree with his darker half. For all he'd felt, for all she'd taken, Christine would not go unscathed. **_Paradise was taken from Adam and Eve, yet they lived for each other. What would happen if Adam were taken away, too...?_**

He walked to the piano and moved a hand under it. He pulled open the wooden panel, and removed the extra keys. With his coat in hand, he left his apartment in search for Christine. The difference in their gaits would make it easy to catch up to her, and she'd probably be combing the city for the only man she could possibly turn to now, never knowing she'd be leading him right to Raoul. Then, having the upper hand, Erik could dole out an appropriate end for their childhood romance.

"Now, let it be war upon you both..."

* * *

She ran without looking back, until her lungs burned and she was forced to stop beside a café she'd recognized. She'd come here a few times to read and drink something warm. Turning around to assure herself she had not been followed, she sat down at one of their outdoor tables. It would only be for a moment, but she needed to look around and get her bearings.

No one noticed her. She was overwhelmed by the sea of strangers, but they hardly thought she merited a second glance. _How sad this is...did I feel so lost before?_ How had she existed out here before? Had she simply ignored the emptiness that life in this city filled her with?

She wanted to laugh at her stupidity. _How can I expect to suddenly be recognized? I was never anyone's close friend here, I never stood out._ Then why was she so disappointed? _I've just become so used to being someone's focus...I was his sole student, after all._ Had that really been it, though?

"Miss, are you going to order?" Christine looked up to see the pretty waitress impatiently looking at her. She was much in need of a warm cup of tea, but knew she had no money. _I didn't have any use for it with Erik. He always took care of me-_

"No." She shook her head soundly at both her thoughts and the waitress.

"Well, if you're not going to order, you can't stay here." It seemed that all Christine could do was deepen the frown on the waitress' face. She stood and gave a small smile.

"All right. Thank you." With that, Christine walked on, unaware that her break had given someone enough time to pester passers-by and catch up.

_I have to go to my apartment. _It was her sole plan. Not to harm Erik by going to the police, but to figure everything out in the comfort of her room. _But how am I going to get in? I've been gone so long...is my apartment still mine?_ She slowed a moment, considering this. It was true, she'd be almost a full year behind in rent, and she hadn't been living there. But she hoped, foolishly, for understanding. Surely, if she showed up at the complex, the manager would help somehow. Christine placed all her hope on this, and continued on, even as the rain began to fall.

* * *

Nadir opened the blinds to look at the rain pouring outside. He cursed his insomnia- he'd have to be up and at work early tomorrow, and here he was still up. And worse, his stumbling in the dark had managed to wake Antoinette, who was now preparing a cup of tea for her husband.

"Dear, why aren't you able to sleep?" His thoughts were interrupted when his wife brought a cup of tea to him. "It's not like you- you're usually a sound sleeper."

Nadir took the cup and smiled half-heartedly. "Perhaps the rain?" His response earned an arched eyebrow from Antoinette.

"You could sleep through hurricanes. No," she concluded, "this is about something that's eating at you." He'd never mentioned anything, but Mrs. Giry wasn't a stupid, kept woman. She'd overheard things, and pieced them together fairly well. Now, it seemed as if something related to what she knew was bothering her husband. "Did you and Erik quarrel?"

"You make it sound like we're having a love affair, Antoinette. We're not, be assured."

"Of course not. You both can hardly be in the same room with each other." Mrs. Giry smiled at her husband's odd humor. "What I mean is, did you have a falling out?" Her hand slid to his, and her concern showed in her face. "Nadir, it would not do to alienate him. Not when we know so much."

"We know so much, and so little," he sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if there really is a soul to save anymore."

"We cannot afford to lose hope," she replied firmly. His surprise made her want to elaborate. "He's not an evil man. I know it. But the way _they_ lived, he cannot help the way he acts."

"You give him too much credit." Nadir sighed. Would his wife understand if she knew of the most recent victim? "Erik's done something terrible again. He-"

"The girl. I know." Her face remained the same as he turned his surprised eyes to her. "I overheard a few things. But he is still the boy I rescued, Nadir. A genius...and a fool."

"Why do you insist on believing in him? Even when he does not deserve it?"

"Because I knew the terrible life he led...I knew, and I did nothing." She looked at her hands. "In a way, I am guilty, too. And it will remain that way until he changes." Silently Nadir's hand lifted her chin, and their eyes met.

"Then we're all guilty. And I can't let you bear it alone." His lips felt hers for a moment, and they spoke no more.

* * *

The rain drenched her, but there she was...in front of her apartment complex. Modest and freshly painted, it looked so warm and inviting. She sighed and wiped at her eyes. As she began to walk, she thought about what she'd say. No key, no identification of any kind...there was nothing she could use to prove any story to the owner. "What will I do?" With every passing second, she wanted to turn and run back, praying that Erik had not yet come to. _No, I can't go back._

She and her shadow walked on. As she was about to open the main door, she drew a deep breath.

"Hello, Miss? Do you have a moment?" Her hand flew back from the door handle as if it were on fire. Had someone just called out to _her_? Slowly she turned to the voice.

"Miss? I was wondering if you've- Christine?" He spoke as if he knew her. Her eyes shot up and met his surprised gaze. With a sudden move, he dropped his umbrella and rushed to her. "Christine!" She found herself in his arms, being held tightly. _Who is...wait!_

"R-Raoul?" She felt him pull away to look at her face. His features were manlier, but it was Raoul. It had to be. This sheepish smile couldn't be anyone else's! The tears fell freely at her realization. "Raoul!" Without another word, she allowed herself to collapse into his arms. He laughed in his relief.

"Christine! I can't believe you're all right. You had me worried sick- but you couldn't know that, could you?" He smiled as she sobbed lightly. She was not composed enough to answer just yet. _I'm safe. It's going to be all right._ There was no relief at this, just a great happiness at being reunited with her past. "Christine," he whispered, "you're apartment's been let out, but I live nearby. Walking distance. Would you like to go and have something hot to drink? You're soaked." Whether she thought this was wise, she was cold and ill and wanted a cup of tea more than anything.

"All right."

* * *

With what agony he watched the boy rush to Christine! Erik would have liked nothing more than to reveal himself and strangle the childhood friend, but he held back. _Until Christine leads me to his home..._ Everything was going according to plan, even if Christine was being so...tender with Raoul. _Heartbreakingly tender...the story she told was just a lie to try to appease me._ He felt such betrayal at her actions. It was a good thing he did not have his wire to tempt him further.

_I **will** take her back, and I will not forgive this boy for his mistake._ With this, he followed.

* * *

"Make yourself comfortable," Raoul told her as he handed her a towel. "Dry off while I make something."

"Thank you." Christine dried off her hair as she looked around the living room. It was expensively furnished, with a leather sofa and lush Persian rug. And atop the mantle above the fireplace rested a violin. _Is it...?_ She flew to it and carefully picked it up from its stand. Turning it over, she saw the carved inscription. Closing her eyes, Christine knew she'd found her father's violin. _Raoul will give it to me, I'm sure. And then I'll-_

What she'd do actually escaped her. She had no home now that she'd left Erik's apartment. _But was that my home?_ Her father's violin had spurred her to leave, but now she felt unsure.

_"I don't care if you'll never forgive me, if you'll never choose to stay willingly, but I want you...here..." his breath burned on her exposed wrists, "...with me."_

She still felt his touch on her wrists. But what had he meant? How important could her voice be to him, that he would not let her go? That he'd cried out? _God, I'm going to cause him pain...his eyes might actually shed tears._ Self-important as it might have sounded, Christine thought he might be saddened. That rose was proof of some attachment, wasn't it? Why had he been so thoughtful, nurtured her and worried about her, if not for that? And this was how she repaid him, by running away at the first chance she had.

_I shouldn't be here._ In her mind, the music Erik had sung to her suddenly rang out.

"I shouldn't be here," Christine murmured.

"So you've recognized your father's violin?" He emerged from the kitchen with a tray.

"You've taken such care of it," she smiled. "Do you still play?"

Raoul smiled and shook his head. "After leaving your father's school, I never had the time to really take it up again. My music studies ended that summer, when we parted. Once I make some time, I plan to, though."

"Music's not some pastime to pick up when you feel like it." Her tone was serious, annoyed at his answer. "It's dedication and determination and natural talent-" _Erik's words..._In an instant, she was herself again, and remorseful. "I'm sorry, Raoul..."

"You're your father's daughter, all right." Raoul placed a cup of coffee in front of her and sat down, patting the seat next to him. She shook her head free of her thoughts of Erik and replaced the violin.

"So...you've been searching for me?" She sat beside him and looked down at her coffee. The bitter taste of coffee had never agreed with her, but Raoul could not have known her aversion to it. She drank a small sip, trying to humor her host.

"Yes. I was worried," his childish smile hadn't changed. "When I discovered you were in the city, I was desperate to find you. But...everyone said you'd just left. I know you better than that, though. You wouldn't give up on your dreams so easily, Christine." There was sincerity in his voice, and attraction in his eyes.

"Raoul..." She was surprised at his boldness. "You haven't seen me since I was a little girl. I might have changed." She gave a soft smile. "Time does that to people." It was true. She could give one example, at least... he'd showed her so much with his new music- as a guide to see through the darkness and into him. _Into him?_ Yes, she realized. He'd let her in, as she'd wanted him to, even if only a little. But what had she found?

_'Close your eyes and let music set you free!_

_Only then can you belong to me...'_

Her mouth opened unknowingly for a second. She knew what it had been, and couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it before. _It's a love song...he sang for me-_

"Not to Little Lotte," Raoul sighed. He move across the small space between them to place his hand atop hers. Everything about him was smiling. "You're as beautiful and sweet as I remembered."

She looked at her hand, then into his face, but it wasn't Raoul she saw. Her eyes looked hard for a light scar down the hairline, for crystal in his eyes. But there was no hint of the man she couldn't get out of her mind in Raoul. She looked down at her coffee, knowing what she was going to do next might be stupid, even fatal.

"I shouldn't be here." She gently took her hand back.

"What?" Raoul was surprised, but naturally so. He'd expected their reunion to be...not _this_. Christine smiled brilliantly, trying to hide insecurity.

"I'm... returning to Paris tomorrow..." she took a breath, "I'm not going alone." The look of realization made her well up with guilt. "I only came to see my old apartment again...then I found you, and I got so excited-"

"Oh..." Raoul nodded dumbly. "So, you really have changed, Lotte." In a small hurt voice, he added, "I never imagined you'd give up on your dream for a man."

She kept her smile on, trying to say goodbye in a happy manner. "No, I've never given up my dreams, Raoul. I'm just sharing them with someone now." She set her drink down and stood. "You were my favorite childhood friend, Raoul. I'll love you forever because you remind me of those days with my father." There was so much pain in what she was about to say, but her smile remained. "But those days can't return. I can't live in fairy stories forever."

Raoul watched her quietly for a moment, then finally smiled too. "Take the violin, then. One more memory of your father. Think of me when you're playing on the streets of France." As a final thought entered his mind he stood as well. "And I'd like to meet your boyfriend, if you're both ever in town."

* * *

He didn't need to stay any longer. Erik knew where the boy lived, and knew the girl wouldn't leave for the moment. Now all he had to do was return home and prepare his revenge. He did not begrudge Raoul his time with Christine, because he'd unknowingly shortened his life span years for every caress he'd give. Erik would make sure of that.

* * *

She ran, bathed in the lights of the city, violin case clutched to her. A goodbye present from Raoul. She'd told him she was leaving for Paris with another man, but he'd understood in the end. He knew his affection had been a child's for their favorite plaything. She was as much a reminder of happy times to him as he was to her, one last link to the past that had to be severed in exchange for a future. She ran. Towards death or salvation, she didn't know but Erik would be there to make that choice. 

"Erik."

* * *

A/N: Eek! What will happen now! Big showdown coming soon! Review and it'll come even sooner! ALthough, I'm hitting a heck of a writer's block... :( 


	17. Touch Me, Trust Me

A/N: Yay, she's running back! But, Erik's not exactly in his right mind at the moment...

* * *

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Erik had found new energy, and rushed back home, panting. Using the second key, he unlocked his room and opened the mahogany chest before his bed.

**_Don't make it painless_**. Erik did not move for the revolver, but instead for the black velvet bag. The memories it threatened to awaken had kept him from its use, but now he felt an almost poetic justice would come from it. Inside the bag rested a single, strong piano wire. Innocent enough, but for what he'd used it for long ago. _And will use again_, he reminded himself.

He was not so far gone in his rage that he did not realize Christine would be lost to him when the night was over. _But she'll remain with me in my misery._ Like Satan bent on bringing humanity down to hell, Erik prepared himself for the attack. Still wearing his trench coat, he placed the bag into a pocket and locked his room behind him.

* * *

_Please be asleep_, she prayed as she walked and drew near the apartment. If he were awake, she would have no idea what to say to him. Would he scream? Would he hurt her? _Oh, God, I'm frightened..._

She knew she was afraid when, as she stepped closer to the large front door and pulled out the keys, her hands shook so much that she nearly dropped the keys. It was not that she was cold or wet again from the rain- she was _terrified_. Just before she unlocked the door, Christine rested her hand on it for support. _What am I doing?_ With every desire to turn back, she nearly did. Then she saw him in her mind, holding his hand out to her as he had only nights before.

'_Touch me, trust me...'_

She opened the door.

* * *

"Oh!" Mrs. Giry cried out as she heard the crash in the living room. Hurriedly she ran in, only to see the family tabby looking very contented with its work. It had managed to topple the vase of flowers in its search for a place to curl up. With no touch of tenderness she took it up by the scruff of the neck and dropped it fimly outside. _Why did Nadir ever want that little troublemaker? Madeleine will be enough to handle when she gets older..._

She went back to the living room to pick up the spoiled arrangement. With a sigh she picked up the long, red rose. It had been snapped in half, and the petals loosely fell when she touched it. She was reminded of when Erik had actually bought one of the roses in her arrangement.

_"Just one?" Mrs. Giry asked as he pulled it out._

_"Yes." He fidgeted nervously with it, and almost put it back in the vase. "I'll pay you for it."_

_"Erik-"_

_"I insist, Mrs. Giry." He'd taken a decisive tone, and she sighed. _

_"Fine. Play your violin for Madeleine next time you're over." She laughed at his change in expression. "She loves the sound, you know, but I can only play a little."_

_"All right. Next time," he nodded in agreement. _

Now she put the destroyed flowers away, and she wondered about the recipient of his rose. She had an inkling on who it was, but could not be sure yet...

* * *

"Christine..." He stared at her as if in shock as she stood immobilized by his presence. She didn't know what to say to him. Should she apologize? Why, when she should have every right to go outside? When she saw his right hand suddenly ball up into an angry fist, Christine realized that she'd stopped him from something. _He looks like he's leaving...and he's upset.._.

"Erik." She whispered dumbly, as if she couldn't quite grasp that he was really there. He sneered at her, but didn't leave. She took a step forward. Looking into his hurt eyes, a small, guilty smile was all that she could muster. "Erik-"

"Did you realize you couldn't escape me?" He said hoarsely. _She came back to me. **She can't be trusted...you won't forgive her.**_

"No, I-"

"Were you afraid I'd find you out there? Do something terrible?"

She shook her head furiously. Yes, she'd been afraid, but not about being punished out there. She pulled the wire from her pocket. "I knew you couldn't hurt anyone...because I have your-"

"You really believe that I need anything- even the wire you're carrying- to kill?" He let out an awful laugh, ridiculing her. She shivered at the distortion in his voice, dropping the device.

"How did you know?" She felt her blood turn to ice in her veins in fear and realization. "You were awake. And you didn't come after me."

"No," he corrected her, "I knew you'd go running to your lover. Everything you've done until now, I have allowed."

_My lover? Does he mean-_ The panic in her face gave him adrenaline. "Raoul? Erik-" She took a deep breath, not wanting to ask this question. "Erik, what were you planning on doing? Where were you going?"

"You've disobeyed me, and that will always carry dire consequences." The gleam in his eye, the anger that radiated from him-it all gave him away to Christine. There was only one thing on his mind. _Murder._

"Oh, don't!" She rushed up to him, eyes begging him. "Don't make this mistake. I came back! I came back!"

Erik slammed his fist into the wall, cracking the plaster and splitting his glove with the force. "Mistake? Dear Christine, it's self-defense. He's acted against me." She placed a hand over her mouth. "He's touched my song-bird."

"No..."

"Shall I tell you? Would it thrill you to hear?" His eyes were feral, not seeing her at all. "Do you want to know who my first was? The first who ever tried to harm me? Kill me?"

"Don't say it, please..." She shook her head. "I came back..."

"It was my father." He told her in a cold, angry voice. She looked up with the sudden shock of his words to study his remorseless face with wide eyes. "I'd do it again. I've no regrets."

"Oh, God..."

He moved to walk past her. It was fine to let her know now- she'd condemned herself to a lifetime with him...and soon Raoul would be dead.

"Congratulations. You've ripped off my mask, and now you know the face of the monster." He had no doubt she'd never love him now. Who, after all, could love a mangled human?

"_Don't look at my child..."_ Erik could hear _her_ voice in his head now, and he knew Christine would be the same. Unable to see anything else. But she wouldn't be able to leave. For Christine, there could be no such easy escape.

"And don't hope for him- Raoul will die tonight." With that, he walked past her. He would have left her, but she cried out.

"DON'T!" Her voice rang out, and she shook with pure emotion. The man who'd taught her, who'd felt for her, was not this terrible thing before her. He couldn't be.

"Are you hoping to save your love?" His voice was biting, cruel, but if Christine was right, it wasn't hatred he was feeling.

"Forget about Raoul! He's not--" She yelled, frustrated. "Please... don't make yourself a murderer in my eyes," she whispered.

For a moment, he was silent and observing. She wasn't asking to spare her Raoul- she didn't want Erik to kill. **_But you have killed. And you'll continue to. It's kill or be killed, Erik. _**But she was just so unhappy, watching him like this, that he began to calm down instinctively. "It's not a choice, Christine," he said in a softer tone. "I've never had a choice."

She shook her head, sending her wet curls bouncing. "There's always a choice."

"Why did you choose to come back?" Such honest words surprised even him, but as he watched her trying to 'save' him, he hadn't been able to hold them back.

"I- I'm not sure." Her chin jutted only slightly, "But I came backto you. Don't make me regret that."

"You can't change the course of my life." _As much as I wish it, you don't have such a power..._

"No more killing, Erik." She looked up, her doe eyes shining with unshed tears. "Please."

"Christine," he shook his head, "you won't ever understand. Death follows me. I can't be free of it, any more than you can be free of me." He looked at her, his arrogance returning. "You can't order me to go against my nature."

Christine sighed, willing the tears not to fall. She picked up the thin wire and came to Erik. She placed it at her own neck, holding out the ends to him. "If you ever feel the need to kill someone again, Erik, you're going to have to kill me first." She had tried to hold back the tears, but they were falling now. The wire bit lightly into her skin as she tightened it before him. "Kill me, Erik. Can you?"

She didn't want to die. But she wanted to trust Erik. Returning to him had been her choice, and now she had to know what he was- man or monster. It was all in his hands now. _Please, Erik._ She tugged the wire, allowing it to cut into the skin at her throat. _How awful it must be, to die this way..._

His hands flew to the wire, but instead of choking her, he released her. The wire relaxed and slid from her throat. She trembled and faltered, and he supported her as she slumped to the floor. He threw the wire to the other side of the room and pressed a fevered hand to her cool throat, fearing his touch might harm her further, checking the red mark that was growing. "Don't ever do that again, Christine," he whispered into her skin. "I'll never kill you."

He realized how true his words were. He'd never be able to raise his hand to her. Though she'd betrayed him, though she'd been in the arms of another this night, he had never intended to physically harm her. No, he realized, those thoughts had long since been replaced with the feel of her cold body.

She raked a tired hand over his, still shivering from what she'd just done. "If you ever want to kill again, kill me first. Please," she moved her head to his shoulder, "I'd rather be dead than know you killed another person." _Especially not for my sake.._

What she asked of him frustrated him. Long ago he'd been taught a harsh lesson, and he doubted Christine could change that, even with all of her pretty words. "Christine," He explained, feeling her curls against his lips as he spoke, "I don't know how to do that. I can't live normally, I've never been able to." It was impossible to promise her, but painful to deny her just the same. She'd left, but she'd come back! He could not give her any lies to hold on to, even kind ones. Suddenly, the curls at his face moved, and he felt her lips at his ear. He instinctively closed his eyes to listen to her trembling voice.

"You can. You can if I'm with you." She looked up to meet his confused stare. "I'll stay with you, Erik." She put her head over his heart and closed her eyes. "I won't leave you ever again. I promise."

He said nothing as he snaked his arms around her and held her close, but Christine didn't need him to. His heartbeat, which was now racing, said it all. They both knew it was enough.

* * *

A/N: Yay! Christine's come back! EC or no, which do you think this'll turn out to be?


	18. What Kind of Life Have You Known?

A/N: Time for some development and fluff! Yes, fluff...just a little is ok, right:)

Disclaimer: Own nothing, want everything.

* * *

What does it mean to share a life with someone? The words can flow easily from a person's mouth, but to promise is to bind yourself. Christine knew it, had known it the instant she'd said the words. For her, it was not just a desire to know Erik that caused these words to spring out. She knew how much she'd have to give up before she'd even uttered them. To be comply to her incarceration, to live life within an enclosed space without so much as a window to look outside from- this was the price to pay in order to stay by his side. And she'd accepted it. Her world, for better or worse, would be his music. And him.

* * *

They didn't speak, but she'd allowed him to hold her. They sat on the floor and held each other, reaffirming each other's existence. Christine felt him tremble as if in pain as she held on to him, and felt new tears spring. _I should have known better,_ she thought to herself. _I should have known he couldn't cry..._ His hold was possessive, accepting her offer with his very touch. 

_Christine,_ his mind whispered as his hand ran through her hair. _Christine..._ he felt the weight of her tears on his neck, all the more amazed at her. He removed himself from her hold only for a moment, to take off his coat and place it over her shivering form. Looking into her face, he saw her lips had turned a little blue from the chill. With his left hand he removed a glove, then gently raised a hand to touch them with a slender finger. His eyes would not turn away from her surprised ones, no matter the mortification that grew as they closed the gap between each other. Her lips were colder than they looked.

"If you get sick again, Christine..," he whispered hoarsely. Her eyes softened, but the tears kept flowing. _She's crying for me..._Even as all of the emotion overtook him, and he began to fall into shock, he knew why he'd begun to really covet her. It wasn't the beauty of her face or the sweetness of her voice, though that he had admired long before he knew her. _Why...why do you say what I most need to hear?_

"Erik..." She whispered with such relief in her voice. He was back! He'd regained his self-control, and he'd called her by name with such gentility.

* * *

As he seemed to slip away in sleep, Christine did not move. She laid his head gently in her lap and took his hand. Erik had watched over her just like this when she'd been ill, and now it was her turn. Looking into his sleeping face, she had to wonder how he could harm anyone. Where, in this body, did that distortion lie dormant? It didn't matter, for the moment. His envy and anger had dissipated as soon as he realized the reason she'd come back. _For him._

Yes, she was afraid- but she couldn't walk away from him. "God help us..."

* * *

"Meg, what's wrong?" Liddy quickly jumped out of bed and rushed to sit at her roommate's. It was the middle of the night, and Meg had nearly fallen out of bed as she'd awoken. 

"Oh..." Meg rubbed her temple and tried to make everything come together. "A dream...I think that's all it was." She looked up to Liddy. "Oh, but it wasn't a normal dream, Lid."

"For you to make all that racket, I should assume not." She scooted into bed with her friend and pulled the covers around them. "So, can you remember it?"

Meg sighed and dropped back into her pillows. "It was so strange. I was a little girl again, very tiny, and hiding behind my mother's skirts."

"I've met your mother, and personally I'd find being near the woman scary enough," Liddy chided, trying to cheer up her friend.

"Hush, Liddy." Meg was not in the mood. "I was hiding, because I was afraid of the house we were going to enter."

"Was it haunted?"

"No...it was a beautiful house...very large. A manor. And everything was very pretty inside...except for one room." Her eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to remember. "It was a room my mother told me I could not go inside. But I did." She shivered and took Liddy's hand in hers. "It was a very dark room, Liddy."

At last she began to understand. "I know how you hate the dark, Meg." Even now, the small nightlight under the bed offered her friend some protection.

"No, it wasn't just the dark. There was something in there." She looked Liddy in the eyes. "Even now, I can't say what it was. I didn't see it very well. But it wasn't human."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because human eyes don't glow in the dark."

* * *

He'd woken up to the most frighteningly beautiful image he'd never even dared dream. He looked into her sleeping face, suspended gently above him. She'd fallen asleep like that, still holding his hand. Her long lashes didn't bat, and her soft face was devoid of any pain she could feel. Watching over him, Christine was like an angel, and she was all the more beautiful for her kindness. _But this won't do._ As much as Erik appreciated her kind gesture, it would not do to have her injure herself more than she had. 

Erik moved from her lap and sat up. Easing himself behind her, he slid Christine into his arms. She didn't wriggle or awaken, only sighed in her sleep. He stood and carried her to her bed. Once he'd made sure the girl was comfortably settled, Erik shook off his tiredness. On her neck the mark was still raw. How had he allowed himself to rest, when she must have felt such discomfort? He'd never had much use for his first aid kit- he'd always had Mrs. Giry, if worse came to worse- but he wanted to help Christine.

He went to his room and searched for the kit hidden deep in his closet. Behind his clothes and the relics of a life long since shed, he found the white box. He quickly checked it, and was greatly relieved to see plenty of gauze and bandages and disinfectant. **_Now you're treating her pretty little neck instead of snapping his_**. The disgust, the disappointment in his ravaged self angered him. Had it, even with her willing sacrifice, not been appeased? _She's staying...she said she'll stay.._

_**Until the moment that door flies open for her. Then, you know what will happen...**_

"No..." He whispered. "She's promised me..."

**_That woman promised you, too, didn't she?_** Erik had to stifle a groan at that memory. Of course he remembered, of course he was afraid! But...Christine had come back, hadn't she? Of her own will, she had accepted to share his prison. That lent him resolve, and he left his room with the box.

Christine's head laid to one side by the time he returned to her. It was helpful, as it exposed her neck to him, and so Erik did not move it. He ignored any thoughts but the ones concerning her injury. He removed come cotton balls and antiseptic. Once he'd soaked the cotton, he gently applied it to her neck, careful to smooth away her hair first. It would sting, but it was sure to take care of any possible infection. With that done, he rubbed some cream gently onto the wound with more cotton, then set a bandage around it.

_How could she have done that willingly? Why would she put the wire to her own neck?_ He wondered at her, at the desperation that drove her to it. It was so much like what _she'd _done. Unknowingly his hand lifted itself to his face, and felt the scar that hid the reason for that woman's madness.

_'I'd even die for you...'_ Hadn't those been her words? Hadn't she proved her love for him?

"Mother..." How he hated calling her that, when he felt certain that mother was a title reserved for someone better, superior. To knowingly take one's life was so simple, but the ability was beyond him. Even now, he was living to spite her. _Living, because I have no other choice...perhaps she didn't have a choice, either._

"Erik," she whispered, and he looked down to see her staring at him oddly. Had she heard?

* * *

She'd woken up to see the faraway look in his eyes, and his hand at his scar. Then she'd heard that word escape his lips. What did that word mean to him, that it could make him look like that? A new face, full of sorrow, appeared before her eyes._ Why is that word so very bitter sounding, when you say it?_ She knew she should be afraid, and she knew she should feel _some_ anger and disgust for him. But that's not what she felt at all. She felt a dull aching in her chest, and wondered if this was the closest he could come to grief. _I cried for my mother...and father. I risked everything for father's violin. But he doesn't have any of that. He has no one._ She sat up, and felt something at her throat. The fresh bandage. 

"It won't scar." He said. Had that worried her, made her look so strange? Even now, everything in her countenance was anxious. Hoping to calm her, he placed his hand on hers. "I promise, I'm going to make sure it doesn't. I'll take care of you." She stilled a moment, then her tears began to fall.

_Erik..._ Poor, unfortunate Erik! _What kind of life have you known?_

Her tears just kept falling, and Erik felt panic set in. Surely, all these tears could not be for him. He moved his hands to her shoulders, looking carefully at her neck. "Christine?" Suddenly her arms sprang out and around him and held him close, still crying.

For a moment he could not understand her. She held on so tightly, and he could not hold her back. He looked down to see only her mass of curls. "Christine," he gently said, "are you in pain? Does- "

"I can't...," she whispered, "I can't say I understand you." She clutched his shirt and looked up. Her hand raised itself slowly. "And I don't know who you really are." Her hand was at the level of his cheek, and she could see the fear in his eyes. "I'm not sure what lies behind the mask." Her tears slowed and she managed a small, sad smile to reassure him. "But I'm going to trust you." She was about to touch his face, when suddenly he winced slightly. First hurt, then understanding set in. _He's been alone for so long..._ Slowly, she dropped her hand to grasp his, and brought it up to her face. "And I want you to trust me in return, someday."

Gloveless, he could feel the soft heat of her cheek in his palm, the weight of it. Daring to make the most of this moment, he slid his thumb up the apple of her cheek, then back down slowly. He was unsure of how to proceed, and watched her eyes for her reaction. She, however, just closed her eyes. It was almost cruel, the way she accepted him. He knew that he wanted all of her, not just the feel of her cheek, but she could not have known that.

**_Everything you touch just seems to die, doesn't it?_** He knew. Erik knew how much suffering he could cause, even inadvertently. But here she was, so trusting and gentle, allowing him such closeness. It overrode any selfless action he might have persuaded himself to take. He knew how selfishly he acted as he leaned forward, just a little, and closed his eyes too. His lips touched her flesh as the blood pounded in his ears and his guilt rang in his mind.

* * *

A/N: Kiss! OMG I can't believe I let him kiss her...I might edit this out, if you all feel it's too soon...let me know, ok? 


	19. Angel of Music

A/N: By popular demand, the kiss is staying. However, the details of the kiss will remain a mystery to you for now, and instead I'll write about their everyday life together...and a little kind-of-good Erik. No, he's not a totally good guy...there's actually very little that's nice about him, other than what he shows Christine, because I rather don't like the idea of him changing overnight.

Disclaimer: Yea, again...own nothing.

* * *

Meg had put Mrs. Giry ill at ease with hersudden call. They hadn't scheduled a phone call, and the girl was lucky Mrs. Giry hadn't chosen that moment to go to the market to buy ingredients for tonight's supper. Then, she'd heard the reason.

"Did I ever go to a big house with you, Mama?" Her voice was small, trying to remember by herself. Mrs. Giry had stilled on her end of the line, but had not denied or affirmed her daughter. She set down her purse and sat at her table.

"Meg, why do you ask?" She sighed. _Distract her_. "Do you really have so much free time to-"

"I had an odd dream, Mama. Just last night." Meg bit her lip. "It still bothers me. I've been off-beat all day."

"You're not an infant, to be so frightened by a dream." Her words might have seemed harsh, but they were tender, trying to reassure Meg. "How bad could it have been, _petite_?"

"I opened a door I ought not have...and everything was dark. I was not yet afraid, so I went in to look. You'd told me I couldn't, but I was so curious..."

"Meg..." Mrs. Giry whispered as the girl continued, closing her eyes.

"--And then, I saw it. Something frightening. I can't describe it now, except for thosefrightening eyes. Those eyes...I thought it would kill me just by looking at me. I shrank back in fear and closed my eyes, but I knew it was there...watching me." She sighed, coming from the very bottom of her lungs. "Then I woke up."

"It was nothing, girl." Mrs. Giry was quick to break the trance. "It's over and done with, so don't dally on it. The mind likes to play tricks, doesn't it?" But in the back of her mind, Mrs. Giry knew just whose eyes Meg had seen, and later demonified in her childish brain.

"It...even now, it feels like a memory from long ago." She gave a small laugh. "But if it had happened, I wouldn't have forgotten it. I should never be the same." A slight tremble escaped her.

"Just a dream, darling," Mrs. Giry assured her. "And a dream can't really harm you, can it?"

"No...I suppose not." Meg finally agreed. "It just felt very real. My mind is very deceptive at times, no?"

_Your mind...and your mother,_ Mrs. Giry thought bitterly.

* * *

"You won't be singing for at least a few days." Erik put his foot down on the subject. She'd been out in pouring rain, and on top of that had injured herself. He set down some books beside Christine. She was lying on the sofa, watching him like a sleek cat. "If these aren't to your liking-" 

"They're fine." She gave him a small smile, undetectable meaning behind every flicker in her eyes. "I- may I ask a favor?" She sat up slowly, and didn't wait for him to respond. "Where is my father's violin?"

He lifted the case from the table. "I'm going to take it to be checked out. I think it's in need of some new strings. No one's played it for a very long time." He watched her nod her head in affirmation. "I'll be out for a short time. Is..." It was awkward, as new things usually are, but he struggled through his nervousness. "If there is something you need..."

Christine looked up in surprise. He usually trusted to is intuition for her things. This was...different. "I-" she faltered, giving a small, breathless laugh, "I don't really need anything, but if you could...I'd really like some bath salt." She had to falter further as he watched her stoically. "I'm a little sore after...well, I'd just like to take a hot bath tonight." She tugged at her own sleeve and finally looked away. "Never mind, it's-"

"All right." _Of course she's sore. She's run so far, while ill, in the **rain**, and cuts herself._ He unlocked the door and walked out. "Just don't strain your voice by practicing." With that, he was gone. She smiled to herself, and did not feel the blush rising on her cheeks, nor her hand at her lips..

* * *

Samantha sat on her couch, looking at one of the drawings in the parlor. Her cordless phone was cradled by one of her soft, small hands. "Raoul, what did you say?" 

"I saw her, Aunt Samantha." Raoul sighed, pulling some sweetner from his cupboard to pour into his coffee. "I was wrong, though. She's been in Paris."

"Well," she mused, "last I remember, she was a small-town bumpkin. It's good that she's out discovering the world. A pity about her parents, though."

Raoul couldn't tell if her words about Christine were an insult or a compliment. "You should have seen her. She's grown to be very pretty. Still quiet, but very pretty." His voice was almost wistful. Even when soaked, he could see the russett in her curls, the clarity of her honey eyes, and that transluscent skin.

"Yes, well, she was a pretty little girl. I'm sure that, being a pretty young lady, she must have found someone by now." She chuckled to herself when Raoul did not respond. "Well, it's for the best. You can finally forget this childhood dream of yours." She placed her free hand at her cheek. "I know she was the only girl you ever really knew before I sent you to St. Augustine Academy. It's no wonder you built her up to be your ideal. But you've turned down so many girls, just because none of them were her."

The words still cut him, but he'd accepted the truth when Christine had left him. She'd looked to damned determined to return to her mystery lover. He'd only called his Aunt because, deep down, he was certain she'd worried too. Samantha was elitist and snobby, but even she'd loved the warm Daae family. "Aunt Samantha, I understand all of that. I just wanted to let you know she's all right."

"And that she's still beautiful, right? I'm sorry, for what it's worth. I know you're disappointed, and people don't quite get over these things overnight." Her mouth wasn't smirking victoriously, just sincere. "But it's as it should be. She belongs with the man best suited to her. Christine always was a sweet girl, if a little naive, and I'm sure that's exactly what her beau sees her for. Maybe even loves her for it. Tell me, what was it that brought this urge to find her again? Where did her name appear?"

Raoul paused and thought back. Although her clever tongue licked something raw with her little speech, he thought of what he'd heard to make him think back to her. With his mouth slightly agape to respond, he realized what it had been. A news clipping, from nearly two years ago that he'd found much by accident. It was the same one he'd shown the detective, with Christine shining onstage, being complimented for an honorable mention. She'd been so beautiful...but had that been enough incite him? Her prettily painted mouth, her dress- was this all?

"You're a little too clever, as usual, Aunt."

"Well, thank you." She chuckled. "Oh, and be sure to let everyone you've alarmed know that Christine is fine."

"Of course...but I don't think anyone was really looking. I'll make the rounds when I have the chance."

* * *

He stood before the shop clerk, and placed the violin case on the countertop carefully. "I'd like this to be re-strung," Erik said. The clerk nodded and opened the case. He settled his glasses higher up on the bridge on his nose as he looked it over.

"It's old, but very unique. A very good piece." He turned it over to examine the back. "The carving here is exquisite."

_Carving?_ Erik looked over, and took the violin from him, and studied it. At the base was an image, hand-carved into the frame. A divine creature with wings stretched out, holding a flute. Under it, an inscription.

_I play to honor the angel of music._

"Sir?" The clerk watched him patiently, and Erik handed it back to him. "It'll be ready in two hours. You can come back then."

With that business taken care of, he walked out of the shop. Even in his own mind, he found the violin to be beautiful. He understood why she loved it- her father must have played it so proudly! But he felt the poetry in the writing, even if he could not imagine her father. She'd been ready and willing to throw everything away for this violin, for her father, and- he imagined- for the Angel of Music. Never quite in thinking ahead, sensitive and childishly noble -- beautiful, foolish Christine.

He knew he was the villain. As he looked around the shops, and picked out trinkets and little gifts for her, he knew he tried to appease this feeling. He would care for her. He would watch over her. Above all, he would give her his music. She would want for nothing with him. _Nothing but the outside world..._

From the corner of his eye a brightly colored shop caught his eye. In the shop window were buckets of flowers, arranged pleasingly. He stepped inside, and wondered all the while if even a room full of roses really meant what he wanted to say.

* * *

She had resumed her curled up position and sighed into her book. With Erik gone, and no instructions for practice, she'd become bored. Yes, she still felt the effects of her illness, and she hurt a little, but she wanted to play. She wanted to resume their natural routine, to really remain as she'd promised. Odd pauses like these just bothered with that. Without him, without music, the apartment was so lonely.

_He'd never know..._

Temptation had finally gotten the better of her. Setting aside _The Masque of the Red Death_, Christine went to the piano. _I'll only pay a simple tune_, she reasoned to herself, _I won't even sing._ Her hands set themselves above the keys, and she smiled devilishly. She wanted to play. It had been so long since she'd played on his piano. The sweet clarity sent a delicious shiver through her, starting at the tips of her ears to her very toes.

_Claire du Lune._ That's what she began with, bringing variations into the well-known tune. Her fingers graced the keys, her body moving with the caress. At one point, a flourish took her away from the tune altogether, and she began _Think of Me._ She kept her word, though very tempted to begin anew her studies. She simply played, enjoying and taking in the sound. When she'd finished, she realized her eyes had closd themselves, and that her heart was beating from the sheer joy. She stood from the piano and smiled. At least her piano had improved. _No, not just my piano...my voice, too..._

She stopped a moment, and felt the silver ring on her finger. A simple, silver band...a promise from her father. When she'd seen the inscription on the violin, the memories had come flooding back. _What little melody did father play, _Christine thought to herself, _during those cold winter nights? And he told me such wonderful stories..._ In her mind she heard his voice, and instinctively knew the notes again.

"I thought I told you to rest today."Erik's voice cut through her before she could hit another note. She turned around on the bench and saw Erik, bundles in his arms. _Why has he bought so many things?_ Erik moved to set the bundles on the sofa, then turned his attention back to her. "Well?"

"I- It was so quiet." She complained quietly. "I wanted only to play a little...I suddenly remembered a song, from my childhood."

The infinite sadness in her eyes was too much. _She's had enough sorrow..._ He unwrapped one precious bundle, and held out the newly polished and strung violin to her. Her eyes slightly downcast, he knelt and placed it on her lap. "Is this better?"

"Erik...," she breathed as she saw the light reflect off of the polished wood. Her hands inspected it, then turned it around. Gently she slid a finger across the inscription. A grateful smile appeared. "It's perfect." Her eyes were warm as she clutched the instrument, and looked into his face. "Thank you." She did not notice that he'd placed a hand into his coat. It was only until he held the red bloom to her hair that she realized what it was. Alarge red rose. In her surprise she didn't move, allowing him to gently tug it through her curls. When he took his hand away to admire her, she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. _What an odd man..._

"What song?"

"W-what?" She snapped out of her thoughts as he turned back into her teacher. "Oh! My..." She set the violin down carefully next to her, and set her hands in her lap, "Father always believed in the Angel of Music."

"Yes, I saw the inscription. It's very poetic."

"Erik...do _you_ believe in the existence of angels?" She was so embarrassed, but curious to know. He did not respond, but shook his head slowly.

"I've never had any reason to." He was too honest, and knew it upset Christine.

"Well, my father believed," she said childishly. "And he always played so the Angels could hear. He wanted me to sing like that, too." She looked so proud, speaking of her talented and devout father, that the corners of Erik's mouth lifted slightly as well. All too soon, however, her smile fell. "And...after the accident...when Father lay dying, he was not afraid for himself." She squeezed her hands violently for composure. "He held my hand so gently...and told me not to worry. Father said, 'When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you.'" Without realizing it, a few tears began to fall onto her hands.

"Christine..." His hand carefully swept her cheek, wiping at the tears. In Erik's mind, he knew he could tell her there were no real angels. He could tell her there existed no God to protect them. And by doing so, he could make her cry more of her pure, perfect tears. So instead he swallowed his bitterness, and kept sweeping at her tears. "Your father, I'm sure...is playing now in heaven." She nodded into his hand, but set her lips firmly to keep from sobbing. "And...and I'm sure if he promised you the Angel, he'll come. Your father wouldn't lie to you." A vile lie! He wanted tobeat such thoughts out of himself, but there she was, listening with such a look in her eyes...He brought his other hand to the other side of her face, making her look at him. "So don't cry. Not when your father is watching over you, even now."

The sheepish smile that bloomed in her soft features made his heart beat fast. She wiped at another stray tear. "Thank you." The same hand raised and set itself against one of his. "Thank you."

* * *

_I play to honor the Angel of Music..._ An image of her father, handsome and gentle, with his glasses removed and playing his violin, flashed in her head. Christine had only seen one man play as her father had...holding onto nothing but the notes. _Erik_, she mused to herself, _a man not quite human, an angel not quite divine..._ She wondered, watching him, if this is what her father had planned all along.

_'When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you..'_

* * *

A/N: Yay, she's found her Angel...I think. Review for more and stay tuned please! 


	20. I Gave You My Music

A/N: Yeah, I haven't updated for a bit...I had some unpleasantness to deal with. But, now I'm writing and hoping you'll enjoy. I took it down a notch with the last chapter, and hopefully this one will make you understand WHY Raoul had that little conversation.

Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews! I am really happy you all take the time to leave me a li'l note!

Disclaimer: Own nothing, want Erik's soul...sigh

* * *

Erik had played for her long into the night. He knew, without even opening his eyes, that Christine had fallen asleep. Why, he wondered as he watched her, had he played so long? Had he done so purposefully? Even when she'd clearly said she'd was still sore? As she settled into his arms, he wondered if it mattered. Gently tucked into his arms, Erik proceeded to take her to her bed. He even pulled the flower gently from her hair, and set it to rest by her cheek. She sighed from the depths of her soul, and he had to smile.

With Christine safely sound asleep, Erik went back to the packages. First, the bath supplies, which he arranged in her bath. Once that was done, he set about making this room truly Christine's...with curios, new and crisp linen, and...

_This. _He pulled out the adorned box and set it on her nightstand. Again, he was not sure if anything he could do would make her love him in return, but he was bound to her, in gratitude if not by his desire for her. Satisfied with his handywork, he waited for morning like a child awaiting Christmas morning.

* * *

Mrs. Giry bounced Madeleine gently on her lap. Now in her waddling age, the babe didn't much appreciate her crib anymore, making nighttime that much more difficult. Nadir had woken up with her this time, and was warming up a bottle as she attempted to relax the child. She sat and rocked her baby, stiffling a yawn. She looked at the squirming bundle in her arms. _Don't become accustomed to this, Madeleine. Even Meg outgrew this eventually._

"Don't look so stern in front of the baby," Nadir chided, handing her the bottle. "She's not one of your ballet pupils, you know." He chuckled and patted his daughter's legs. Madeleine gave an enthusiastic kick at the sudden action. "Look, she has your legs. She could be a Prima Ballerina, Antoinette. You, of all people, shouldn't want to stifle that."

"Yes, well, as a teacher I wouldn't dream of it. As her mother at three o'clock in the morning...that's another matter entirely." After testing the bottle on her wrist, she guided it into Madeleine's mouth. Immediately she quieted and drank, allowing Mrs. Giry a sense of relaxation. Nadir sat on the carpet and watched them quietly and noticing his mood, Mrs. Giry looked to him. "What is it, dear?"

"Do you think, perhaps, he ever had something like this? Late nights with his mother and father?" Nadir's voice was quiet, contemplative. She frowned.

"It's impolite to ask questions you already know the answers to." Madeleine gurgled in her arms, and Mrs. Giry cooed at her. Nadir found himself smiling sadly, but stood to get behind his family. He patted his daughter's cheek with two fingers, and rested his head against his wife's. _Then, _he decided, _I have to have many nights like this with my family._

"Let's sing her a lullabye," he murmured, taking one tiny hand in his. _Let's sing to her until we all fall asleep._

* * *

_"Christine!" A little boy yelled out in to the trees. He ran behind one, and looked around him. A little girl's giggle was heard behind a bush._

Christine saw the boy tiptoe, then pounce on the bush. The little girl squealed. _I remember..._

_"You found me!" She cried as she hugged him happily. She pouted softly. "But why did you have to? Now father will make me practice the violin..."_

_"Let's go practice together, then." The boy broke the hug and took her hand, half-dragging her into the house. "Come on, it'll be fun!"_

_"Raoul, you big showoff!" She giggled and soon gave up any struggle._

She wanted to follow, but her feet seemed glued to the spot. The children looked so happy, heading into a warmly lit home where her mother and father were waiting. _I want to see them_...

"Christine, don't leave me." Something in the dark behind her called out. _Who? _She turned her head and peered into the shadows.

"Who's there?"

"You promised, so stay." She could see the outline of a body moving closer. Then, that pale face.

"Erik?" She wanted to walk to him, but again her feet would not obey. Instead, she stretched out her arms to him. "No, I'm not leaving." As he came to her, rising out of the darkness and into the light, she smiled. "See? I'm right here." He took her into his arms and held her tightly. _This is where I need to be..._

* * *

The chime of a very special alarm woke her. Slowly Christine's eyes opened, and she shifted in her bed. _I must have fallen asleep in the den again. Wait! What-_

The sound music had woken her up, coming from a music box. She turned her head to the sound, and saw the peculiar piece. A rectangular, gilt box with a little monkey sitting atop it, playing its cymbals. She sat up and looked at it. _Such an odd box, with such a sweet melody._ Her hand reached out, and once it settled on the monkey's head, the music stopped. _An alarm?_ With a little yawn she stretched her arms out, feeling much better after a full night's sleep. When her hand set itself on the bedspread, she felt something soft and velvety. _The rose,_ she thought to herself. Even after a night without water, it hadn't begun to wilt.

Then she saw the rest of the room, and wondered where she was for a moment. The same furniture remained, but with a few new additions it was more feminine. On the chair next to her bed were soft rose-colored linens, on her vanity a bowl of potpouri. The closet was open, and some new bags of what she assumed were clothes waited for her. She was surprised only a moment longer, then let out a small chuckle.

Christine swung her feet over the edge of the bed, and slipped into the new slippers. She picked up the new hairbrush and smoothed out her hair before tying it back with her pink ribbon.Satisfied, she walked out to the kitchen. Sure enough, Erik was reading the paper at the table, breakfast already prepared and waiting. At the sound of her approach, he'd looked up.

"So the music box works," He remarked, sounding pleased with himself. Christine nodded and sat across from him, and set the flower in a glass of water.

"Yes, it's wonderful. You didn't have to buy it for me, though." She frowned only slightly. "You might end up spoiling me, and then you'd regret having me around at all," she joked.

"Never going to happen." His response took her by surprise. He'd said it without even looking at her, and had calmly sipped his tea afterwards. She must have looked a little flustered when he did raise his eyes to her, because he motioned to her tea. "It's going to get cold."

"Oh!" She clumsily raised her hand and took up the cup. "Thank you." _What an odd thing to get all bothered about,_ she reprimanded herself. _We've grown closer, so why shouldn't he feel a little more comfortable with me?_ "But still, that music box must have been very expensive, Erik. I don't want you to feel it's necessary for me to-"

"I didn't buy it." He took another sip. "I made it, many years ago."

"_You made it?_" The surprise in her voice couldn't be contained. Apologetically she raised a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, it's just- it's such a wonderful melody, and it's so detailed. How old were you?"

"Ten, I think."

More surprise registered on her face. "Ten? When I was ten, I was thinking up new ways to get out of dance practice." She smiled at the memory.

"I had more time to develop my talents on my own." He set the teacup a little hard, and said no more. Christine watched him carefully, hoping he'd reveal more. _That's right, he was taught at home..._

"And the tune?" She inquired. "I've never heard it before."

"I wrote it." He wanted to drop the subject. That song, written in such lonely and desperate hours, wasn't as merry a sound to him now.

"Are you sure I can have it?" He looked to her as she said this, and set the paper aside. "If it's something you made, you must treasure it."

"I gave you my musicbecause I want you to have it. I_want_ you to hear themusic that I write, Christine." Such a simple, blunt fact brought a flush to her face, when she remembered those lines. _He sang those same words.._ What could she say to that?

"But it's something so valuable, Erik. I feel...well, I have nothing to give you in return."

_Your love,_ he thought to himself. But no, that was not something to be taken from her so cheaply. "Why do you need to give me anything in return?"

Christine paused at his question. "Well, because...I wouldn't feel right about it." She didn't want to seem ungrateful, but she couldn't freely take something so precious. He'd already given her so many things, after all.

"Well, we'll figure out some method of payment later," he decided. "Right now, you should finish your tea. Then we'll have a look at you before I go to class." When he saw her somewhat relieved, he poured himself a second cup and waited for her to finish breakfast. He didn't notice that she raised a hand to her throat in worry. If it looked as bad as she felt it was...

* * *

As much as he'd enjoyed singing to Madeleine, Nadir felt the effects of it as he sat at his desk looking over some papers. He became drowsy, and had to support his head with a hand. _I'm getting too old for long nights, I suppose._ But the heartwarming moment he'd seen had been worth it. Both mother and child sleeping quietly in the old rocking chair. Madeleine was still cradled, but Antoinette's head lolled to one side, and her normal bun had become undone, letting her honey-colored hair flow. Had he been an artist, Nadir would have found the image very inspiring. Instead he was a husband and recent father, and as such felt pride.

It was at this time that there was a knock at the door. It woke him up and he cleared his throat and stood straight in his chair. "Come in." Someone very unexpected entered, and he rubbed his head. A headache was sure to follow. "Look, I've already told you- I'm really too busy to-"

"It's all right." He raised his hands in defeat at the detective. "I'm not here to bother you about it anymore. I wanted to let you know to drop it."

"Really?" Nadir was taken aback. Had his infatuation with the girl cooled so suddenly?

"Yes, she actually _has _been in Europe." He shrugged.

"Oh, I see." Somehow, Nadir didn't feel reassured. He knew the story Erik had concocted, it was pretty tight...so why did it bother him that Raoul finally believed?

"I guess I was just hoping she wasn't." Raoul sighed. "I'm just very sorry to have wasted your time."

"No, no trouble at all." His answer was automatic as Raoul reached over and took his hand. _Something's not right here..._

As Raoul nodded his head to the detective and opened the door, Nadir called out to him. "By the way, how did you find out she was really in Europe?"

Raoul turned, and smiled sheepishly. "Christine told me so herself."

* * *

Once Erik had gone to fetch the kit, Christine had turned to her vanity. Carefully she peeled off the bandage. She bit her lip at what she saw. The red line the wire had made was raw and the skin swollen. Around it was another band, this one black and blue. With a little rough motion, it would be easy to open up the injury. It's so ugly! _Is it going to heal? Am I going to have-_

"Christine?" Erik opened the door, and saw her sitting at the vanity. Christine felt the cool air prickle her skin as he knelt and set the kit down. She swallowed nervously. Was it ugly? She wasn't quite sure she wanted Erik to see, if it was. As she heard his quick intake of breath, Christine pulled her head down and looked away from Erik.

"Christine..." he reprimanded, opening the kit. "Look up." To this she could only shake her head feebly. He sighed, somewhat annoyed. "Christine," he repeated, this time more sternly. "Let me see."

"No." She was blushing furiously, and knew how childish this was. But she suddenly didn't want him to see the marred skin. For some reason, she didn't want to let him of all people see it. She feared it _had_ scarred, and that he wouldn't see her as..._As what? _"I can tend to it myself." She felt his hand under her chin, pulling her face up with a little force.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's in a difficult area to wrap up by yourself." He was becoming more and more agravated by her enigmatic behavior. Hadn't he seen it before? True, now it was bruising and looked more painful, but wasn't that all the more reason to treat her? She remained difficult, however, and tried to press away.

"Erik, don't. It's really fine-" She had to stop short as his he tugged her head up.

"No, it's not." He snapped impatiently. He brought a hand to her throat and gently touched the area. His action was met with a wince. "You see?" When she closed her eyes tightly, he felt that guilt eat at him again. "Keep still." A hand went to the kit and he pulled out the gauze and disinfectant. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Don't look," she whispered. He dropped what he was doing to look at her reddened face.

"Why not, Christine?" The annoyed edge was still there, but a tired gentilitylaid beneath it. She bit her lip.

"It's ugly." She was so embarrassed to admit this to him! She hadn't thought of any consequences when she'd acted, and now was the time she became mortified about it. "I..just don't look, all right?" Even as she said it, she felt herself become even more red. _How have things come to change so quickly?_

"Don't say such stupid things." He murmured, but there was no malice in his voice. What he did next took her by complete surprise. His hand moved to cup her cheek, continuing to keep her head up. She suddenly felt him at her throat, and shivered when what she was sure were his lips touched her. "You're beautiful."

He was soft, his lips tread only lightly on her skin. All thought fell away from her, and she could only feel the kindness in the gesture. Still, there was the sting of that sensitive wound she'd inflicted upon herself, making the moment bittersweet for her. It hurt and felt so inviting all at the same time.

When he pulled away to go back to the kit, it felt all too soon to her. It was the second time he'd kissed her. The first had been in gratitude, the second in acceptance. They had both been so reverent. _So why do I feel so strange? _Christine's eyes darted to his form again and again as he treated her wound, but he did not meet her gaze. He bandaged her throat again, and picked up the kit. As he walked out of her room, as if compelled, he cast one last look before he left. Her blush seemed to return with that look, and as he closed the door, she covered her eyes with her trembling hands.

_What's wrong with me..?_

* * *

_A/N _Nadir's found something odd, thanks to Raoul, and Christine just got all aflutter. Will there be trouble in their growing paradise? Leave a review and stay tuned for the next installment!


	21. Let My Opera Begin

A/N: Sweetness and a little surprise in this one! Thank you all for the reviews. I'm really touched people would read beyond the first couple of shaky chapters and really get into it. I appreciate the effort on your collective parts!

CH 21

* * *

Erik sat in class, mind elsewhere. Why had she been so anxious? And how could he have been so bold? He'd only meant to prove to her that she was not at all ugly. **_She knows nothing of ugliness.._. **He had to agree. Even if this incident left a small white scar on her swanlike neck, she'd still be Christine. She wouldn't change because of that.

"That wraps up my lecture for today," Mr. Firmin declaring, tidying up the index cards he'd written his lecture on. He saw some students already at the door when he remembered his announcement. "Ah, just a moment. Before you all leave, I have an important announcement." He cleared his throat, trying to make his students pay attention. He noticed the odd-dark haired boy paying attention for once, and smiled. "The department of arts has finally been granted funding for their latest endeavor- the greatly anticipated Masquerade, to be held next month."

Erik heard the words, and for a moment he was no longer in class with other chattering classmates. He was at a small worktable, dimly lit, music box in front of him. _Masquerade..._ Mr. Firmin's hissing microphone was the only thing that brought him back to reality, hurting his sensitive ears.

"The music department has found and hired the band, but, as the dance department will showcase their students, we think it's only fair that some of our students get a little recognition, too. Therefore," He picked up a stack of papers from under the podium an smiled. "The recordings you turned in will be used to determine the top five, who will be allowed to perform at the gala. What you perform, original piece or no, is up to you." He paused for emphasis. "Come forward to pick up your results."

There was a mad rush to the podium. A chance to perform at the school's gala event wasn't an everyday sort of occurrence. They hoped for it, some cursing the fact that their recording hadn't been very good at all, saying that if they'd only known...

_Pathetic,_ he thought to himself. Erik remained seated and watched the crowd. He thought back to that recording, to the time he'd spent on the lyrics and the melody. Hadn't he written it, body and mind, for her? Then there was no doubt in his mind that he would be selected. The only question in his mind was whether that would be problematic for him. He wanted to play, to have a chance to really show this school something. There existed a music in the back of his mind, and the first drafts were locked in his desk drawer at home...and he wanted to play his instruments...his music, and Christine's voice.

_Risky,_ he warned himself. If Nadir knew he was going to make himself known, even a little bit..._but as long as he is kept in the dark...how would he discover it?_ Then, there was the little matter of Christine. No other voice would satisfy him for the piece, he knew, even if it was still lacking. A month to train her wasn't much...but it would be necessary, if he agreed. _But I'd have to bring her here..._ she'd have to be brought to the ball, back to the outside world she'd given up for him. Perhaps another taste of freedom would change her mind, make her betray him again...

_'I promise...'_

He sighed, and noticed that the crowd ad dispersed. Mr. Firmin looked at him, and set his review on the podium for Erik before leaving. Erik stood and walked over. _It's a masquerade, after all...who would take notice if she sang in costume, then disappeared into the crowd?_ He picked up the papers, and turned to the last page. Attached by a paperclip was a formal invitation to the gala, and a time slot.

* * *

Nadir had thankfully dismissed Raoul before allowing himself to react to the information he'd accidentally been given. _The girl lives..._ surprise and relief set in. _She's alive._ That was unexpected- had Erik grown a conscience, after all? But, something nagged the detective...if Christine was alive, why had Erik rubbed out her existence? Why had Erik not said anything when he'd been so angry with him? _Because he didn't want me to know, _Nadir reasoned.

_No, there's something not quite right about this,_ he mused. As much as he secretly hoped for it, there was no way Erik had suddenly grown to value human life...if Christine had done something to Erik, he could not hope for her to be alive. But then, who had Raoul de Chagny suddenly met? Whatever had happened, Nadir was determined to find out.

He turned on his computer and stretched. It appeared that the detective would be working on a little project...

_Miss Daae, if you're alive, I'll find you._

* * *

Erik had left classes early. With the news, he had much to deliberate, and could not stand to be in a lecture hall while doing so. He was unsure, he knew, of how far Christine could be tempted before she'd break. This was, he knew, an excellent opportunity for them...a chance he'd probably never have again, and he wanted to take it. But there was the little matter of faith, and the fact that he could not force himself to believe his little ingenue. Who would, under the circumstances, not leave a second time?

The ringing of his cell phone annoyed him. He became even more aggravated by the name flashing on the screen. "Daroga, I thought you'd broken it off with me. Have you not learned your lesson?"

The detective sighed. "Your humor bothers me, Erik. I've broken nothing off with you, and you should know that by now. You're my responsibility."

"Wonderful," Erik replied mirthlessly, "but your sense of responsibility is nothing I've decided to shoulder as well. Now, you had something you wanted to inquire about?"

"An apology would be nice," the Daroga muttered.

"Yes, well, world peace would be nice, too, but neither of these is going to happen in the near future." Erik needed to wrap this up...the detective was tricky, and might be mixed up in his affairs too much as it stood. "Seriously, detective, why have you called me? I'm a busy student, you know."

"I know...I was just suddenly reminded of a deal you'd made with my wife. You're indebted to her for a rose, or so I'm told." The Daroga scratched his head. "Well, Madeleine's been terribly fussy at night, and I know that your playing could wake the dead if you wanted it to. What I'm curious to know is if it can put my girl to sleep." He listened quietly for his response. He'd appealed to his muscician's arrogance, and hoped it would pay off.

"Very well. I suppose there's no use avoiding it. Let me know when you want me over, and I'll play for Madeleine."

"All right." Nadir smiled to himself. A little time with Erik might help him find the answers...

* * *

Told not to practice yet, and unwilling to deal with the stirrings inside her, Christine decided to try and keep herself busy. First, she wanted to reacquaint herself with her quarters. She was more than delighted when she checked her bathroom and found bath salts of many different fragrances, and a soft bathrobe hung neatly on a hook for her. It was all so feminine, and Christine could only imagine the discomfort Erik might have had to go through for all of this. A small laugh escaped her at the notion, and she decided to finish exploring before enjoying a bath.

In her room, she looked first at the vanity, with its rose-petal potpourri and the new brush and comb set. In her top drawer, also, were new ribbons to tie up her hair with, and little vials of perfume. And next to that, she saw something that left her pale. In a clear box, sitting atop a little black cushion, was the blood red rose. The very first he'd given her. Recovering her senses, she pulled it out and set it on the vanity table. It was encapsulated, and perfectly preserved. _A reminder that will last forever_... She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead, she simply blushed. When had he become so kind? It couldn't all be gratitude, could it? She clutched a hand to her chest.

_And why am I hoping it's not simply that?_ She sighed, snapping herself out of her reverie. "What a silly girl I've grown to be, father." She set her head down on the vanity, and turned it to see the rose. "I can't even understand myself...how am I supposed to understand his actions?"

'_When I am in heaven, child, I shall send you the Angel of Music..'_ Yes, he'd said that, but what was Christine supposed to do once she thought she'd found him? This was all confusing to her, but deep inside, she hoped that their odd friendship was growing. When she'd made that promise, she'd made it with the blind faith that someday he'd open that door for her of his own free will, and know that she'd return to him again and again. _Because we're friends..._ she reminded herself. She took one more look around. _And as his friend, I should do something nice for him as well..._

* * *

Without any real resolution to his issues, Erik headed home. He could take comfort in watching Christine as she read or played the piano. The matter at hand seemed less important than sharing a meal with her before going over to Mrs. Giry's. It would possibly even put him in a better mood. He parked his car in the lot, and treked to his apartment slowly. He wondered how much of the complex she'd taken in, when she'd been rushed in and as she'd run away and returned. Had she met anyone on the street, at that time? Not that it mattered- in his world, only the two of them existed. Beyond the sanctuary he'd created for himself, only the school grounds and Mrs. Giry's family mattered.

_But the ball could ruin all of that,_ he reminded himself. Why, if she had promised, could he not trust her for a few hours? This was a chance he'd never have again. His pact with the Daroga made damn sure of that. He thought of it breifly, of the ball and Christine. He could see her smile for him, then disappear behind dancing couples. As much as he wanted this, he wanted Christine with him more.

Resigned, he reached his door. Slowly he unlocked it, and stepped into his appartment. After he locked it again and shrugged off his coat, Erik became aware of the aroma permeating his apartment. He walked quickly out into the den, Christine wasn't there. _Is she..?_

"Erik?" He turned and saw Christine smiling at him. She was wearing one of his white aprons, and had a ladle in hand. Her hair was tied up and away from her face, showing more of her creamy skin. As he gawked, she smoothed her apron. "Welcome back."

"What's that in your hand?" He was somewhat amused when she looked down and realized she'd brought the ladle with her to greet him. She hid it behind her back and looked away for a moment.

"I made dinner tonight. Granted, it's just stew and rolls, but I thought it might do." In her head, she wondered if this was such a good idea. Erik was quite a good cook and she was a bit unused to using his kitchen. When he walked past her to the kitchen, she couldn't allow herself to be flustered. She rushed to see him take in her presentation.

"I could have at least set the table, Christine," he said as she walked forward. She smiled in relief.

"No, I wanted to do something nice for you," she explained as she served the meal. "I mean, it was very kind for you to go to such trouble for me. I wanted to thank you somehow."

_She doesn't understand why I did everything, then,_ he thought. Well, wasn't that better? This way, she still smiled for him, and didn't think of herself as a captive.

"Do you not like it?" Christine watched him as se sat down. He hadn't picked up his spoon yet. Even while she prayed over her supper, he'd sometimes fiddle with the silverware. Now he was just watching her, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. Seeing him pick up the spoon and taste the stew raised her spirits though, and she also began to eat.

"I didn't know you could cook," Erik said as he took a roll. She laughed softly.

"I don't know how to cook many things, but I try." She herself took a roll and put it on her plate.

"It's good." His comment was so quiet that she could scarcely hear it, but it brought a wide grin to her face. She was content with him just eating it, but his praise, given so seldomly to her, felt wonderful. They ate at their table, glancing at each other between bites.

"So...," She cleared her throat slightly and tried to find something to talk about that wouldn't fluster her, "you came home a little early, didn't you?"

"Yes, I left the grounds early," he sounded weary, as if being away had taken a toll on him. She cocked her head to the side and kept her gaze on him.

"Are you all right, Erik? You seem a little tired." He shook his head at her idea.

"A little, I suppose, but I have to go back out later tonight. Since we can't resume your lessons until you're better..." he stopped there when he saw her retreat just a little into herself. He remained silent, waiting for her to gather herself and say something.

"But," she said quietly, putting down her spoon. "When you're gone, all I have is my voice..." She sighed, "I'll lose my mind if I can't start seriously practicing soon." She knew she was pouting like a child, and she hated being this way in front of him, but she just had to be honest. As long as she remained here, Erik and music were her only sources of companionship.

"Do you feel ready to begin, then?" He said with a kind of eagerness she had not expected. She nodded her head.

"Yes, I want to take up my lessons again." She stood and picked up her dishes. As she set them in the sink, she heard Erik stand, too. Quickly she left the dishes, sure that Erik was going to the piano. Once in the den, however, she heard no music. Instead Erik held something in his hands. He watched her emotionlessly as she came up to him. "Erik?"

Erik could hear his better judgement scream at him as he held out the invitation to her, but he remained firm. _I want to do this_, he decided. When he saw her face lit with yearning, looking up with a brilliant smile, he hoped he was doing the right thing.

"The gala, Erik? They're finally having it?" Her excited voice was contagious, and Erik gave a little nod. She noticed the little card attached and read on, confusion marked in her brow. "But what is this time written on here?"

"That's when I'll get to perform at the Masquerade." Her big eyes widened as he'd never seen them. She looked at him in awe for a moment. Yes, she'd known he was an excellent musician, but this was a great honor! He kept his eyes on her to steady his nerves. "I want you to perform alongside me."

She trembled a moment, and she dropped the invitation. For a moment she was dumb, unable to comprehend his actions. "W-why?" She managed to stutter.

"Because you're my protege." He answered simply. He bent and picked up the card. "It will be difficult- you still have much vocal training to do, and I'll be hard on you- but if you want to do it..." Erik left off there, sure that he'd made his point. It was all up to Christine, who by now was recovering from her surprise.

"Erik," she began slowly, a little uncertain of how to phrase her confusion. "You... would take me outside?"

"In a disguise," he explained quickly. He couldn't, would not, lie to her. He brought his hand to her chin, and their eyes met. "Will you promise to return with me?" His heart beat fast. Yes, she'd promised before, but he needed to hear it again before allowing this to happen. "Promise, Christine."

"Erik," she could have easily lost her thoughts just by looking at those eyes, demanding and hopeful. Even if only for a night, he was going to trust her. She'd earn it with practice and patience, but it was a vast improvement. Her hand found his, and smiled. "I won't run away. I promise I won't."

That was all he needed to hear for now. Erik wanted to believe her. Inwardly he sighed. _Let my opera begin..._"Then you willsing beside me at the masquerade."

* * *

A/N: Masquerade's coming, but first a little quality time for Erik with Nadir...review and wait for the next chapter! 


	22. My One Companion

A/N: In my pressured and stressful times, this has been my one companion. Thanks to everyone for reading and leaving wonderful comments for me. A special thanks goes out to my new beta-reader, Cymbidium. She's been very kind, and extremely helpful. It's thanks to her that I have finally uploaded this chapter. THANKS!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (if you haven't noticed by now :) )

Ch. 22

* * *

Erik drove away from Christine, towards Nadir's home. He was speeding he knew, but didn't much care. There was excitement coursing through him, and he wanted to get this over with and return to her soon. 

"I have a small errand to run, Christine," Erik had said as he picked up the violin. She had smiled and nodded her head. "I don't know how long it might take, so you don't have to wait up. We'll start working tomorrow morning."

"I'll wait," she said. He watched her sit at the piano. "I'll play until you return." She turned her pretty smile back to him, and he knew she was as excited as he was.

They'd decided to embark on this together and he wanted to pull out the sheet music right away, but this little debt had to be paid first. He pulled into the driveway and took his violin from the passenger seat. _Soon enough, Christine will be sitting there_ he thought to himself as he walked to the door and rang the bell.

* * *

Christine's heart beat madly and the sound of the doorbell drowned out the few uneven notes she played on the piano. Erik was taking her to the gala, to sing something _he'd_ written. _Moreover, I'm going to go outside with him._ This mattered most to Christine, and that was what made her mind wander from the piano. She was awed by him. She had clearly seen his fear at the idea, had felt it hidden in his rich voice, but he'd faced it. She knew how fragile his trust could be, but Christine was going outside with him, and she knew that as she hoped to be saved, she would not break this promise. _I promised to stay by his side..._

* * *

Mrs. Giry looked surprised when she opened the door to greet Erik. "I didn't know you were dropping by," she noted as she ushered him in. She took his coat and noticed the violin. 

"I've come by to pay the debt I owe you, Mrs. Giry." He stood and waited for her to return to the living room. "I'd have come by another evening, but the Daroga insisted on tonight." He heard her small laugh again as she closed the closet.

"Yes, it might be because _ma petite_ has been unable to sleep well these past few nights." She emerged and motioned to a chair. "And by extension, neither have we."

For a moment she'd made the mistake of assuming that Erik would understand her domestic trouble, but she soon corrected herself. "Nadir has gone to pick up some fresh chai tea. Will you wait for him to return before you-"

"No." He shook his head at her offer and her question. "I've some other matters to attend to tonight so I can't stay too long."

She nodded slightly and he waited for her to stand and take him to the infant's nursery. It was not a part of the household that he was comfortable venturing into. He'd never been in that particular room, and except for a brief visit or two, had never been near Madeleine. _Madeleine..._ the name itself wasn't painful to Erik, but it did bring a face into his mind. A face that was adorned by beautiful black silk, but tired and deathly pale just the same.

"Here..." Mrs. Giry motioned to the open door and entered. With a steadying breath he followed suit.

It was not the alien environment he'd built it to be. The pastel walls and padded furniture were different to him, but the soft scent of talcum powder almost oddly reminded him of the feel of Christine's cheek. He halted for a moment to gather his thoughts when he heard the infant laugh.

"_Petite Mado,_" Mrs. Giry said as she picked up the baby. "Will you be good and sleep if Erik plays a lullaby for you?"

Erik had no idea how to react when Mrs. Giry brought Madeleine closer. He saw the plump babe stare at him a moment, clearly able to tell he was a stranger, and felt uncomfortable. Mrs. Giry must have understood because she moved past him quickly to the baby's dresser and pulled out a pink pair of pajamas. She moved back and set Madeleine in her crib and began to change her.

"How has school been?" She changed the topic in an attempt to make him feel more at ease.

"It's frustrating," he explained. "I'm listening to professors who've never written anything of real import and I'm supposed to listen to them." For some reason, he wanted to venture further on the topic. "If I could-"

"You know the circumstances of your life," Mrs. Giry said as she pulled at the jumper constricting Madeleine. "You know it better than I."

Erik was stonily silent a moment, knowing he could not mention anything on that subject. Nadir had imposed restrictions on Erik long ago, and he knew damn well how useless it would be to try and change that. Instead, he moved and settled the violin case on the dresser and began to clean the instrument.

"Does she like a particular song?" He could hear her hum to herself in thought.

"I thought that, you being a musician, you might find something suitable," she answered as she smoothed the baby's hair. She gave one of her soft looks to Erik and he sighed. "I'll leave you to it," she said, and left.

Erik looked at the toddler as it sucked on the pacifier in her mouth. He wasn't sure that it was a good idea to leave him alone with a creature he'd never really been in contact with, but it was too late. Mrs. Giry was out of the room and all he was armed with was a violin.

"Perfect," he sighed again. _What to play,_ he pondered. What was one supposed to play for a child? For Christine all he had to do was play what he liked since they had similar tastes...but this wasn't Christine.

He brought the violin to the crook of his shoulder and took up the bow. In order to calm himself he closed his eyes and tried to forget about the child watching him. With a short stroke to the strings, he began to play.

* * *

Nadir had long since found the desired tea and snacks but had walked slowly back to mull over his thoughts. He didn't even know what he was looking for, really. All he had was a young man's word and the feeling in him that somehow Christine was not dead. Now he had to draw Erik out of his shell and into revealing something. 

When he opened the door to his home and stepped inside, he could tell something was different. He went and set the bags on the kitchen table and then stepped into the living room. There he heard the faintest strains of the violin and saw his wife sitting to listen quite intently. She must have heard him because she shifted just a little in her seat.

"You've heard him play before, haven't you?" she asked quietly, and he moved to stand beside her.

"Only once, the first night I'd met him," he admitted, looking at her face. Somehow she was glowing where she sat, listening to the music.

"And? What did you think?"

"I'm not musically inclined," he said.

"Regardless, what did you hear?" She sat up now and looked at him as if she could see right into his memories and extract her answer. It was that steady, dark gaze of hers that Nadir had been bewitched by, but now it was being used against him.

"I thought it was the darkest kind of music I'd ever heard." He was honest and knew his wife had known the answer all along. "I couldn't imagine that a young boy could bring that to life." He was rewarded for his answer with one of her small smiles.

"And now he's playing for our child, and it's unlike anything I've heard him play." She patted his arm gently as she walked by him. "I'm going to make some tea."

He watched her go, then sat down in her chair to listen. The soft song of the violin could barely be heard, but it was not the kind of music Erik would play. It sounded like a lullaby, a variation on Brahms. It was true, what he could hear did not resemble _that_ night's music. No, that had been pure fury, delivered by a boy of such thin frame. The image of the pale, transparent skin of his fingers as the boy gripped the neck of the violin would never be erased from the detective's mind.

_'What are you playing, lad?'_

_'...a requiem.' _

_'It's not a very mournful sound, is it?'_

_'I'm not mourning.'_

How disturbed he'd been by the contrast between the boy's heated, angry music and his emotionless voice! Even now, it bothered the detective to remember. And yet...how could that terrible child play like this? What had happened to him that allowed him to play this kind of sweet music? Had Christine Daae anything to do with it?

"Daroga, back from your expedition?" The detective was so lost in thought that he did not hear Erik come back into the den. He looked up and saw Erik holding his violin case.

"Is Madeleine asleep?"

"Soundly," answered Erik, recalling the infant's wide eyes drooping into slumber as he'd played. He'd placed her little blanket over her as he'd left, but he would not mention that particular detail to anyone, much less the Daroga. "Now, if I'm done here-"

"Nonsense." The detective waved to the kitchen. "Antoinette is preparing some tea and she'd think it rude of you to leave without having a cup."

Seeing Erik give in and sit across from him, Nadir smiled. "How have you been, Erik? We haven't spoken in a short while."

"Well, our last conversation wasn't very pleasant."

"I remember. I think you hung up on me," Nadir chuckled and waved it off. "I suppose I was being harsh. But tell me..." He looked at Erik now. "Don't you feel pity for that boy?"

"I'm not obliged to feel anything towards a stranger," he said, a small scowl on his face.

"Raoul is looking for someone he'll never find," Nadir pressed. "You had something to do with that."

"He's none of my concern." Even if Christine had returned to him, Erik still felt very dark emotions stir when he thought back on that scene in the rain. He doubted he'd ever forgive Raoul for his trespass.

"But the late Ms. Daae is." He untied his tie and sighed.

"That is in the past," Erik quickly replied.

"The thing is, my conscience won't allow me to rest." He dropped the tie into his lap and could not force a smile or cheerfulness into his words. "I keep thinking about the poor girl. Will you answer one of my questions, Erik? To ease my troubled mind."

When he received no mocking retort, Nadir took a breath and kept his eyes on Erik's form. "I looked into her past... She was just an ordinary girl. Did you play a requiem for her at the very least? You did after all murder her."

Erik paused before answering. "I don't force my own hands, Daroga. I don't have to write or play if I don't wish to." He stood abruptly and gathered his violin. "I actually do have some other matters to attend to, Daroga, but I'll come by when I need to be cheered up by your presence."

"I'll be sure and let Antoinette know you're not staying then."

Nadir heard the rustling of a cloak, and then the door opening and closing, and sighed. _That could have gone much better_ he admitted. But had it been merely his imagination, or had he seen the boy flinch? Not much, but for the briefest moment Erik's countenance flickered _something_ that was of great interest to the detective. He had to discover what he'd said to make someone like Erik actually start, if for only a moment.

"And what has kept you from playing your requiem, my ward?"

* * *

He found her bent over the piano, head in the crook of her arm. Christine was still awake, but very drowsy, and it was possible that the virus was still bothering her. Erik left his coat in the doorway and set his violin aside. With a hand he placed a loose tendril of hair behind her ear as she looked up at him with half-closed eyes. 

"You waited for me." It was an obvious, stupid statement, but after his little chat with the Daroga, Erik had forgotten all about her promise.

She gave a sleepy smile at his response and wearily lifted her head. "I said I would." A hand wiped at her eyes, trying to return to alertness.

"It's late. You need to rest, Christine." He took her hand away from her face. "I wouldn't have been angry if you'd gone to bed." With a little tug he urged her to get up from the bench and she complied.

She stifled a little yawn. "But I was waiting for you. It's not just because I said I would."

As he held her hand she intertwined her fingers with his loosely. In her tired state, Erik mused, she was less reluctant to touch him.

"Then why?" He led her to her room and held on to her hand only a moment longer.

"Because you're my one companion." Her magic words were spoken without fear, just as her fingers fell away from his. He watched her for just a moment longer as she smiled at him from inside her room, then he quickly left her.

* * *

As Christine began to unbutton her blouse to change into her nightclothes she heard a soft knock and her doorknob rattle slightly. She gasped and cried out. 

"I won't come in," came the response from the other side of the door. "I only wanted to say goodnight."

"Oh...goodnight, Erik." In the silence afterwards she quickly pulled on her pajamas and climbed into her bed. She heard the gentle strains of music from right outside her door. Something soft and strong, commanding her to rest. It couldn't be called a lullaby, but it couldn't have been anything else. She ventured a guess.

"Erik?" She clutched the quilt to herself as she sat up a little.

"Stay in bed, Christine," he replied softly. "I won't come in. Just lie down and listen until you fall asleep."

In this brief interlude he'd never stopped playing. This was not the variation of Brahms he'd played for Madeleine, but a spontaneous expression for Christine alone. As her one companion, he sincerely hoped he would be able to send her off to the land of beautiful song and pleasant dreams.

Review...pretty please?


	23. In One Combined

A/N: Again, thanks to my awesome beta-reader Cymbidium. This will be a really good pivot chapter! Thanks to the reviewers and diehards who really want this story to progress- you guys rock!

Small, possibly sad announcement: My schedule has become hectic, so my updates might become a wee sporadic/sparse as a consequence. No worries, though. I'm not abandoning the story.

Disclaimer: Own nothing.

Paradise Lost - Chapter 23

* * *

They had less than a month in which to prepare for the Masquerade. Plans had to be drawn, costumes designed, and the music had yet to be completed. And above all, Christine's voice had to greatly improve, and very quickly. Erik was very aware of the preparation involved and so began their joint project the very next night. He began by serenading Christine. 

In the quiet comfort of his own bedroom, he pulled out the score and sat at his desk. He tapped a pen in time as he reviewed his work, trying to think only of his music. In his imagination, he clearly heard the smooth strains of violins. _Begin with violins, _he thought to himself, _violins building, and then my voice. _He imagined it playing out like a small opera. Perhaps his ideas would be too much for such a small performance, but he realized that there would most likely never be another chance. This had to be it, and it had to be perfect. He would pour out all of his passion, his desire, and his vision into this work.

_But what of Christine? _She'd progressed beautifully from their nightly duets and lessons, but for this role, she had to be _Perfection._ His tapping stopped as he thought of her. Yes, he was going to return her to the outside world, and he would make everyone take note and remember the strange and beautiful angel he'd molded. Her haunting voice would remain in their collective memories long after he'd taken her back into the darkness. His Christine and his Aminta...in one combined.

* * *

"Honestly, to leave without saying anything was rude, even for Erik." Mrs. Giry poured another cup of tea for her husband as she continued to huff. A small smile spread upon her features, though, as she reveled in the silence that enveloped the house. "But we'll have a full night's sleep if we play our cards right, Nadir." 

"Hm," he grunted in agreement as he drank his tea. Actually, his thoughts were not on his sleeping baby, although he appreciated her silence. Instead, he was busy thinking of the boy Erik had been ten years ago. What was happening now was not completely clear to Nadir yet – Erik's motives, and the link between him and Christine. He found that it still eluded him, _but not for long._

Mrs. Giry also thought of Erik as she sipped her tea. She thought of him as a boy when she had been his tutor. _How? How can a heart that feed only on despair play with such sweetness? _She smiled to herself again. A theory had been growing, along with her hope for Erik, and now she felt fairly certain that someone was with Erik, doing more for him than either she or Nadir could. She thought it was wonderful, but also somewhat sad. _But such things must happen, she reminded herself, when a boy is growing into a man._

* * *

Morning came quickly for Christine, but as she yawned and got up from bed she was filled with excitement. This was Day One of her training with Erik, and she had no idea what to expect from her strange friend. She'd hardly expected last night's late-night serenade, but he had played for her long into the night. How long had she listened before she finally fell asleep? For all she knew, it really could have been all night. 

Figuring that she was up earlier than usual, Christine decided to take a quick shower and dress before breakfast. She opened her closet and picked out the day's clothes and then hurried off to the bathroom.

* * *

Erik sat at the piano in the den, completely unaware of anything but his finished score. _And yet, not quite finished..._ His hands wandered over the keys and he thought for a moment before he closed his eyes and imagined the lyrics he would sing. In his mind's eye, beautiful words had formed, and if he believed in the existence of his own soul, he knew that these would be its words.

* * *

Christine emerged from her morning shower wearing a pale blue skirt and a white blouse as she went about towel drying her hair. The bandage at her neck had been carefully peeled off, but she knew she'd need Erik's kit soon. But as she stepped into the den, she forgot all of that. He was playing so softly, she could hardly hear the piano. Instead, her entire attention was focused on his song. His rich voice played over the music, his focus complete. She listened, and she felt herself grow warm with what he was playing. _Why these lyrics? _She had dropped her towel and leaned against the wall, and she listened as if her legs would fail her. 

The words he sang were not elaborate, but were sung slowly and deliberately with a subtle intensity. Christine pressed a hand to her heart as she listened to the lyrics, and she swore she could hear her heart pounding. _Really, Erik? Anywhere? _When she felt hot tears sting her eyes, she turned back to the safety of her room.

"Christine?"

She heard him call her, and gasped. Drying her eyes quickly with the back of hr hand, she turned to see him standing. He was still in the same clothes as yesterday, and he looked a little disheveled. He must have caught something in her expression to betray her because he walked over to her quickly.

"Are you all right?" he asked as he brought a hand up to her cheek and examined her neck. His slight touch shocked her, and she turned away.

"I'm...I'm fine, Erik. I was about to ask you for another bandage and some ointment for this." She motioned to her neck, trying to keep her mind from going blank. "Have you been up all night?"

"I was finishing the score," he murmured, somewhat confused by her odd behavior. She hadn't even smiled at him this morning. Had she fallen ill again?

"Shouldn't you get some rest then?" she asked. She sounded worried, but she still hadn't turned to face him. "You might get sick like this."

"It's you I'm worried about, Christine," he said softly, and she felt as though she couldn't get enough air. Her lungs seemed to have stopped working as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder. _Do you mean that, Erik?_ "If you get sick, we'll lose valuable rehearsal time. Take care of your voice, Christine."

It was as though he were scolding her for her shakiness, and Christine felt foolish under his gaze. She nodded her head and turned, determined to smile anyway.

"Was that the finished score I just heard?" she asked, changing the subject perhaps a little too quickly, but Erik didn't seem to mind.

"No, it's not part of the piece we'll be performing."

"It's finished then?"

"It's done if you'd like to look it over later, but right now let's take care of your injury." He led her to the sofa and went to retrieve the kit. Christine watched him go, trying to control her feelings of disappointment.

_Then why did you play it? _Christine thought.

She scolded herself for her sudden interest. There was work to be done and Erik wanted her to greatly improve before the gala. _And I did promise to work hard..._ She moved her hair to one side as he prepared to re-dress her wound.

It began with scales. Erik played a note and Christine sang. She thought she'd done well enough, but when she'd ended, Erik's face was set in a grim line. He looked away from her and back to his score. "Am I very off?"

"At least your injury isn't affecting your voice," he said absently, avoiding her question. He played a few notes from his music, lost in thought.

"But, haven't I improved? I've been practicing with you for some time now..."

"Your voice isn't strong enough to hit the high notes you'll need to reach." He stopped playing and seemed to be lost in thought. She felt like she'd let him down. "But it's not impossible. We'll have to begin training immediately." He stood and turned to her. "Turn around."

"Erik?" She was unsure of what he was doing, and was a little hesitant.

"Relax your breathing and turn around." He took a commanding tone, giving her no choice but to do as he'd asked. She turned and felt a hand at her back, then another at her abdomen. She gasped, and stiffened automatically. "That's not relaxed, Christine," he admonished. When she was finally able to relax, he continued. "Sing."

"Sing what?"

"Anything." He paid attention to how she took air into her lungs as she sang from _The Magic Flute._ As he'd suspected, her breathing was not as deep and lasting as a diva's ought to be. It was also a factor in her inability to hit the high notes flawlessly. He realized she'd stopped and was looking back at him. He released her quickly and turned back to the piano.

"The music is sound, and the lyrics will be soon enough. Although we're not working on your voice just yet, study the music itself. When we finally put your voice with the music, you'll be very familiar with the melody." He backed away from her and went back to the music.

"Are you regretting it?" she asked quietly, a little afraid of his answer.

"Regretting what?" He hit a few more notes.

"If I fail on the stage...if I can't sing..." Christine looked at his back, hoping he'd reassure her as he always had. She needed him to.

"If you fail, it won't be your fault," he said softly, still not looking back. "It'll be mine for choosing you."

He continued to play, never missing a beat as Christine felt her heart break for the first time in her life. She didn't understand what it was that pained her yet, other than the hurt she felt at his words. But as the tears threatened to return, she bit the inside of her cheek until they subsided.

_I won't let you say you regret choosing me!_

* * *

_A/N: Is Erik really so shallow? What words did he sing, to strike her heart so? Review and read the next installment!_


	24. I Wish I Could

AN: New Chapter, and new story. Again, much thanks to the beta-goddess Cymbidium. Hope you all like what I'm producing, and will let me know in review format hinthint

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I got nothing but soul ;)

* * *

"Again," Erik said as he played the notes anew. She closed her eyes and began to sing, allowing herself plenty of breath. The song poured out from her, and she hoped it was enough this time. She was exhausted, having been at this for almost a month. Almost a month of early mornings, of intense practice with her teacher and no sympathy from Erik. How long had it been since he'd held her familiarly? Now, it was all an excercise and stage movement. Her wound, long since healed, was no longer an excuse for tenderness.

This was a new face of Erik's. Determined and driven, but cold. When she could hit a note well, there came no praise. Instead, he'd nod his head and move on to the next lesson. He'd even been absent from school to practice with her, and to further oversee the progress of his project.

_He's not even looking at me as a human being,_ she thought. The song died in her throat, and she stopped short. It was foolish to do so, because Erik would just work her harder for it, but she was just so tired. Why couldn't he just let her rest, or at least speak to her as more than her teacher again?

"If your throat is sore, there's more tea left." He kept playing, even though she had a grimace on her face. True, it wasn't bitter-tasting, but drinking that tea nonstop had made her averse to it. She doubted she could take another sip unless it was absolutely necessary.

"No, it's not that." Christine sighed. "I just had to stop a moment." She looked away and placed a hand at her neck, massaging it. She was tense, probably from all of the stress of this performance. The fact that he was so aloof only added to that. _My head hurts._

"If your throat's not hurt, we need to continue." He'd continued to play throughout the pause, never looking back to her. Inside, he wanted to know what was bothering her, but there was no time for that now. He wanted her to be absolute perfection for that masquerade, to shine as only he'd seen she could. The ball was coming in mere days, and she had yet to really feel the music coursing through her. Though her beautiful voice had become crystaline due to practice, the words she sang felt empty. Somehow, she was not reaching that point.

"Erik, please-" she sank to her knees, clutching the folds of her long black dress, "I need a break."

"Once you're perfect," Erik responded. "Again, the chorus." In an instant he switched from the first break straight and to the beginning of the chorus. "Stand up, Christine," he shouted over the music. It compelled her to stand, and even though she hadn't the spirit for it she sang for him. Again, though her notes were finally strong, they did not thrill him. He stopped in frustration and sighed. Feeling Christine's gaze from behind him he grew annoyed.

"I've really tried, Erik." She said, feeling as though she might break. "My notes are pure now, so why-"

"It's as though you're bleating like a lamb." Erik scoffed at her excuse. The girl just didn't understand his vision, and so he wanted to injure her slightly. What he hadn't expected was the sob that escaped her. In this rushed state, even her gentle gasps for breath irritated him. "If you wish to change that fact, concentrate on what we're doing, Christine. Don't waste my time with crocodile tears."

As he was about to go back to the keys, he felt a small object hit his back. He turned, surprised, and saw she'd thrown her little sandal at him. Still in awe of her, Erik watched her huff and the tears stream across the apple of her cheek that he'd stroked only weeks ago. Now, such contact seemed to be more improper than before. _Why, _he wondered, _would it be wrong to touch her now?_

"How can you think I haven't been concentrating?" Her skin was bright pink, glowing in her frustration. "Morning, noon and night I've been practicing, I've been perfecting. You know that."

"It's important to be excellent for the gala, Christine."

"Not for me!" She seemed to only become more angry at his lack of understanding. "It isn't the people at the gala I want to impress." Impossible as it may have seemed, she became pale suddenly, and raised a hand to her lips. _Why? Why is it you..._

"Then why are you doing this?" He inquired. The tone of his voice bothered her with its suspicion. He picked up the shoe and stood. He approached her, calculating her. "If it's not for them, why did you agree?" _Do you plan on running away after all?_ He walked towards her, and she took a step back, close to the wall. He raised his hands and in one swift movement had her pinned to the wall. "Why?"

"I-" She faltered, unsure of how much she understood her own feelings. But she needed to say something, that much she understood. "I want to sing."

"I thought you said it didn't matter."

"It does...but-but not for them. I don't sing for them." She looked him straight in the eye, this genius who hadn't given her a moment's peace for weeks. She knew why he was worried as she studied his face. "I'm coming back with you," she said. "That's not something you need to worry about."

"I don't worry about it," He backed off, but kept a cool exterior. "You know I'll hold you to your promise." _One way or another..._

"Why must you act this way?" Her horrified whisper bothered him. "Why must you make everything a threat, even now? You haven't acted like this for a while and I thought-"

"We're losing time. Your voice must be perfect. I've said so several times." He rubbed his temple with a hand. "I need your voice to be full of passion and intensity as well as exceptionally trained. So far, it's not there yet."

"My voice," she scoffed, "yes, that's a precious commodity for you, isn't it?" _Why am I saying these nasty things? Why am I so jealous of my own talent?_ "How important is it for you?"

"Your voice is everything," he said wearily, "nothing else matters!" Again, the sharp pain from within her returned with his thougthless answer.

"You love my voice, then." She replied without emotion, holding everything within her. Erik turned in surprise, frightened by the word she'd used.

"No, you don't-"

"Yes, I do know, Erik." She spoke as if she finally understood it all, and had played the fool in his game. "It's my voice you've always wanted. The rest of me is useless to you..." she walked over to the front door and placed a hand on it. Why was this so unbearable? It was as if she could scarcely breathe without letting out her frustration. Her voice finally came after a moment, but it was faint. "You know, I heard somewhere that if you put a newborn baby in a box with no human contact for a year, then took it out, that it would never learn human language." She was trying to smile, but already the tears were flowing. He watched with horrified interest. "You're a little like that, Erik. A man who can't understand his own human heart, because you've been separated from it for so long. I think I'll mourn that for the rest of my life." Without another word, she left with quiet dignity for her room, leaving Erik to try and find a meaning to her outburst.

* * *

_I've been an ass,_ Christine berated herself. With the door soundly closed and under her blankets, Christine cried at her own stupidity. _Of course it's my voice...he'd heard it before, and he's been so interested in training me._ Her hand went to her neck, where the injury had formerly been. _And he worried over this because it might have damaged my precious voice._

How terrible it is to hate something you love. As Christine wept, she thought back on the whole of their interaction with new eyes. _It was never me he saw. Didn't he call me his song-bird?_ After departing from Erik's company, the sharp pain had become only a dull ache, but it ate at her. _Why was it you I wanted to impress? I must have somehow known that my voice was all you wanted, that it was never **me**_ _you-_

She stilled. _It was never me that you loved..._again, her heart wrenched. Why was it so painful to know this fact? Why was it so terrible that he had no heart? Surely, it wasn't her problem. Christine knew _she_ had one, if only because she felt it painfully now. Then why was it harmful to her?

"Because I-"

* * *

"Erik, you must know how rude it is to leave without saying goodbye," Mrs. Giry reprimanded. Erik marvelled a moment at how she could remember a slight as if it had occurred only yesterday. "But, I'm sure this is not what you wanted to call me for." She was right. Unsure of how to proceed and utterly frustrated, Erik was driving in circles around town. Mrs. Giry, being a discrete woman and an old friend, seemed like the right person to call.

"I suppose I needed to hear a friendly voice, Mrs. Giry. I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from anything."

"No, not at all. Nadir's just taken Mado to a playdate. I'm glad you called, Erik," she confessed, "especially if something's bothering you." After that, she fell silent and waited hopefully for him.

"You're more observant than I realized, Mrs. Giry," he said with a frown. He might have to be cautious with her after all.

"Oh, I notice a thing here and there...for instance, the softness with which you played for my daughter." She sighed, hoping this would not alienate him further. "Such tenderness cannot have sprung from nowhere, Erik."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Giry?" He was worried now. Truly, how much did the older woman know?

"I believe...that a man has no use for a rose. Or a ribbon, for that matter." She heard the way his breath suddenly caught in his throat. "I won't ask for details...but perhaps your discomfort stems from that matter."

"...you're too observant," he sighed. "I'd thank you to keep this from the detective."

"Of course. What fun is there in marrying a detective if you can't have little games of intrigue now and then?" She joked.

"Very well then." Erik swerved off the road and parked. He shut off the engine, and focused only on what was transpiring between Mrs. Giry and himself.

"So, I surmise you need some advice." She mused. "Perhaps about a girl you've begun to notice?"

Her bluntness was rewarded with a loud curse. Erik placed a hand over his eyes. Everything was unravelling so suddenly. "Don't tell him, Mrs. Giry." His voice nearly growled. "Don't ever tell him."

"...Why are you so afraid?" There was no mocking tone in her voice, but her words hit their mark. "Why are you so worried that you'll be found out, that your feelings will become known?"

"...Because..." he spoke softly, without the command she'd always expected him to have, "...I can't lose her." His hands shook as he spoke to Mrs. Giry, terrified of the weight he suddenly felt lifted. "I want her with me."

The silence was not uncomfortable as the two soaked in his words. "All right," she decided, "I won't say a word to anyone. But tell me, have you told her this?"

"Of course not," he replied with a snort. "What kind of woman would have me, with everything I've done?" He sighed. "No, it's enough to have her near, to have some kind of affection from her." Even though he was being honest, Erik excluded under what circumstances the young lady in question was being held near. _No, Mrs. Giry alredy knows too much of this..._

"Then what do you want with her? Why keep her near, if all you do is deny yourself?" A simple enough question, she knew, but Erik had to pause. For what ends would he want her near?

"I thought...if she sang my music...if she understood my music...she'd belong to me." He hated saying this, opening up to his only confidante...but where else could he turn to? Christine was in tears for reasons he could not understand, and Mrs. Giry had been the first person he'd thought of as he drove away. "I wanted her voice to be perfect, but I've only succeeded in making her averse to me entirely."

"Perhaps the problem lies in your thinking, then. I assume she's an ordinary girl, Erik- no more, no less. It may be too much for her. Your music, I mean."

"No, not for her," he assured her. "She's anything but ordinary. Her voice is unlike anything I've ever heard. And after working so hard, it's become so clear." He sighed, recalling her note high above c. "She could sing to make every man on earth cry. That is the potential she has."

"Then,it sounds as if she's already done a great deal to be perfect for you. Personally, I'd be honored that she's put up with so much to sing for you."

"She's not singing _for me,_ as you put it."

"Then for who? I don't think a young woman would do so much if she did not wish to, no matter her temperament." He had nothing in response to this. Instead, he focused on quelling the hope that tried to grow with every loud thud of his heartbeat.

_No,_ he shook his head, _it's not true. Don't be such a fool, Erik. _He berated himself long after the conversation had ended. Still, he wanted to see her. Motivated by what he'd just said, he wanted to be near her, and see her lie open and unafraid of him once more. He drove back just as quickly as he'd driven away.

* * *

"Because I love him..."

She'd said it. Even alone, the words she heard herself say nearly caused her to faint. With a shaky gesture she brought her hand to cover her lips. _What have I said?_ In disbelief she shook her head. _What has happened to me? Dear God...I've fallen in love._

Shouldn't she have been happy, danced around and basked in the revelation? The why, as she attempted to stand, did her legs fail her? Christine could not answer this. Even if she tried to deny the words she'd just formed, she knew it was useless. They were out in the world, and had awakened the anxiety in her soul anew. They were a strange liberation she could not refuse. _And yet, I wish I could..._

What would this mean for them, now that the secret buried inside her had been set free?

* * *

Enjoy! Please review and wait for the next update (working on it already :) )


	25. You Alone

AN: Here it is, Chapter 25, and the beginning of the end (you'll see what I mean a chapter or so down the road ...). For now, enjoy and review (PLEASE!)

Disclaimer: I own nothing...I am but a poor fanfic writer quite devoted to the PotO.

Chapter 25

* * *

Outside of his music there was silence. When Erik had returned home later that night he'd locked himself away in his room to keep from opening the subject again with her. Christine, however, had made no attempt to knock on his door or speak to him again. It seemed to Erik that her outburst had completely drained the rebellion from her, because the next morning he'd found her practicing the music. In fact, she wouldn't speak of anything but the music now. She was willing to be utterly devout to his teaching and seemed to understand how little time they had left.

He'd gotten what he'd wished for. Christine was now nothing but his willing pupil. Gone was the woman with her flaws, replaced by a sort of cold perfection. She ceased to smile for him, to entreat him with her kind eyes. The liveliness of her personality became fuel for her performance. All she was now was a voice. And Erik, for his own selfish reasons, didn't care for this change at all.

Christine couldn't bear to look at him or think of him now that she'd made her discovery, but she still felt a stirring in her heart that she couldn't ignore any longer just the same. She could barely stand to be in the same room when they were not practicing the duet. As an outlet, she sang. The only thing to please him, the only way to love him, was to sing meticulously for his pleasure. Yes, she would be absolutely perfect on that stage, if only to feel loved for a little while. Her voice would be for his ears alone. It was the only thing she could give him. It would be the only way for him to understand.

This was how they spent the final days before the Masquerade, denying themselves and giving in to the music alone. When not working on the performance there was little talk between them. They hadn't yet found the words to make the other understand.

* * *

"We've done enough," Erik finally declared, putting away the score. Time had finally run out, and he could ask her for no more. The level she'd reached would have to do. "In the meantime, you'd do well to bathe and change into Aminta's clothes. We'll be leaving for the university in a few hours."

"All right." She moved nearly soundlessly to her room, heeding his words without even looking at him. He'd given her enough time to luxuriate in a nice hot bath before leaving, and she desperately needed it.

* * *

Erik went away to his room to put the finishing touches on the costumes they'd wear that night. There would be two sets of costumes -- one for the performance, and another for their getaway. Both would be equipped with masks to keep themselves concealed from the public. He picked up the black mask of Aminta. It would cover Christine's face, from her brow to the tip of Christine's nose. Unless her beautiful eyes betrayed her, her identity would remain a mystery.

* * *

Christine rested her head against the porcelain rim of the tub, soaking in the warm water. Tonight was the night -- she would sing for him before an audience and make him feel everything she was feeling. By god, on the stage she would not be Christine, she would be Aminta, singing to her lover. It might be the only chance she'd have to make him understand.

_When tonight is over, what will happen to us?_ She had decided her course of action, but that didn't mean she wasn't afraid. What if the performance was all he wanted of her? Once she'd consented to it, Erik had changed so completely. What if he continued to live this cold, uncaring life with her? She dreaded this kind of inert lifetime with him more than anything. He'd forever be so close, and never hers at all...

* * *

"It's time," Erik said as he left her costume on the bed. He tapped softly on the bathroom door to alert her before leaving. He had to prepare as well if he was to be a suitable Don Juan. He'd set aside his own clothes and had just come out of the shower himself. He used the towel around his shoulders to tussle his wet hair.

'_What will you do, once this night is over?_' Erik sighed at the question. What was the right answer, after all?

"We'll live together, as before."

'_In separate rooms_' the voice snickered. '_You'll cage both the girl and yourself...if she comes back with you._'

"She'll come back." He gripped the towel a little tighter. "Now go away, damn you." He would not goad himself into suspicion and blackmail. Not tonight. It belonged to Christine, and she would shine as he'd always known she could. His anxiety and blackened mind would not get in the way of that.

He picked up his own black mask and began to secure it to his face. He could have laughed at how familiar the feel of such an object was to his face. _'A mask...holding such memories...'_

* * *

Christine slipped on the white top and smoothed it into her Spanish skirt. Delicately she placed her mask over her features and sighed. There was a magic in wearing another's clothes and donning their character. Aminta was beautiful and innocent, and yet...seductive in her own right. Her clothes were no more than a peasant girl's, but the dark mystery in the mask and the rose in her hair made her enticing and unique.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. _Has the magic affected you yet?_ Christine found herself smiling genuinely. Yes, this was the Aminta she wanted to play. She stepped out of her room and to the impatient Erik in the den.

* * *

"Christine, are you--" He stopped short as she came in, a black shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She looked the part, and took the thought from his mind. What made her most appealing to him was the smile that lit up her face. Her soft eyes were fixed on him, as if these painful times between them had finally ended.

"I'm ready, Erik." She moved forward and took his hand. "Let's go."

Instinctively he held fast to her hand. Since they'd begun this whole thing, Erik hadn't touched her, but that deprivation only heightened what he was feeling at this moment. He had to release her hand, however, to open the front door. He paused a moment, only to glance at the young woman waiting patiently for him. _Because I want to give you everything tonight that I've taken away, if only for a little while...I won't be afraid._ He opened the door for them and held out his hand.

"Let's go, Christine."

* * *

Christine sat in the passenger's seat of Erik's black BMW after being hurried out of the complex. 'He probably didn't want to be seen by neighbors even though it was already dark outside.' She could accept this and looked out the window. She was outside, going back to her old campus to sing for everyone at a Masquerade. She knew she should feel extremely thrilled, but instead she was anxious. Once Erik heard her sing for him, would he understand? Would everything change or remain as it was?

She stole a glance at his profile as he drove. _Why is it you? _she kept asking herself. Hadn't she loved other people before? Her parents, her friends, even her childhood sweetheart Raoul -- she knew she'd loved them. It just wasn't the same, though. What she was feeling now was different somehow. Unable to completely understand it, Christine scoffed at her audacity at trying to make _him_ acknowledge it. _Please...Angel of Music...let me sing for him alone tonight. Let me touch some small part in his soul._

* * *

They had entered through the back to check in with the stage crew. Erik spoke quietly with the manager, trying to find out when they'd be on. Apparently they would be on as soon as the orchestra finished their set.

"Five minutes," said one stagehand. Erik nodded and stood with Christine in the wings. He watched the crowd as they whirled about the floor and wondered if they would cease their dancing and pay attention when they performed. Would they receive Christine with applause? If they didn't, they were fools...but it would surely break her heart if that were the case...

* * *

He was holding her hand even as he looked away. Her eyes were fixed on him and nothing else. As the time to perform drew closer, he held her hand tighter, almost painfully so. Still, she couldn't find it in herself to pull away. Instead, she tightened her grip on his.

_You're nervous, aren't you, Erik..._ She was amazed at her ability to discern it from the way he held her hand, when his face was so impassive. But she recognized it and wanted to be a sense of comfort to him. Slowly she brought her hand to his shoulder, turning him to see her. They stared into each other's eyes.

"_Leave it to me,_" she whispered. "_I'm your Aminta. Trust me."_ Even as the curtain closed and the orchestra rushed past them, they remained a moment longer like this until he took her hand.

"You alone can make my song take flight." He brought his hand to her cheek and lowered his head to her ear. "_Sing for me._"

Her voice would not fail her, not after hearing those words from his lips.

* * *

AN: See? I did NOT abandon this story...I like seeing things through to the end. But, please, leave me a review? I've been getting so few, and I'll admit it did bum me out (yes, I secretly am this petty). So, will you inspire me with a few words? 


	26. The Mask

AN: Well guys, here it is- the chapter people have been awaiting! Thanks to Cymbidium, my beta, who puts up with my quirks and helped me out with this chapter.

And I am incredibly touched by the amount of reviews I received for the last chapter...I thought people ad given up on the story, but when I saw so many people reviewing I nearly cried with relief. Thank you for supporting the story, everyone. You have no clue how much it means to me!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but would like to own a dvd player sometime in the near future...

Chapter 26

* * *

There was a fiery red backdrop behind her as she stepped into position on stage. She didn't glance at Erik, who was waiting for his cue from the left wing. Now was not the time to be nervous and bend under pressure. She'd decided her fate, and as the heavy curtain rose and her eyes met the glare of the stage lights, she knew there was no going back. She stepped forward, and parted her lips.

'_No thoughts within her head,_

_but thoughts of joy..._

_No dreams within her heart,_

_but dreams of love...'_

She knelt with her flower basket as she hit her high note, and she knew the audience would be hers. Now what she waited for was...

'_You have come here,_

_In pursuit of your deepest urge_

_In pursuit of that wish,_

_which till now has been silent..._

_silent...'_

She turned to observe him, as he, gesturing, brought a finger to his lips. He drew closer, stalking her like prey. She stood, watching him approach.

_'I have brought you,_

_That our passions may fuse and merge_

_In your mind you've already succumbed to me_

_Dropped all defenses_

_Completely succumbed to me_

_Now you are here with me_

_No second thoughts_

_you've decided...decided...'_

He paused, letting his lips curl into a smirk and taking another step before allowing his rich voice to continue.

_'Past the point of no return_

_No backward glances_

_The games we played till now are at an end_

_Past all thought of "if" and "when," no use resisting  
Abandon thoughts, and let the dream descend...'_

Suddenly he was behind her, hand at her throat, and his voice was husky with seduction.

_'What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlock its door?  
What sweet seduction lies before us?'_

His hand moved from her throat to grasp her hand, leading her to center stage. His eyes never left hers and his face flashed triumphant as the color rose to her face and Christine fought for air.

_'Past the point of no return, the final threshold,  
What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?  
Beyond the point of no return...'_

Now it was her turn, and she was more than ready to answer his call. _Now or never, Christine..._, she reminded herself.

_'You have brought me to that moment where words run dry,  
To that moment where speech disappears into silence, silence... _

_I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why  
In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining,  
Defenseless and silent, and now I am here with you  
No second thoughts, I've decided, decided...'_

Her head nodded her agreement as she stepped closer.All of her excitement, all of her desire, all of her love-- it was all going into this song.

_'Past the point of no return, no going back now,  
Our passion play has now, at last, begun.  
Past all thought of right or wrong, one final question,  
How long should we two wait, before we're one?When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom?  
When will the flames, at last, consume us?'_

She seemed to burn as she sang, radiating passion. Erik found himself surprised at her perfection. This innocent lust combined with her voice...it seemed as though she were truly his lover. He recovered from his thoughts and took a step forward to meet her. He caught her in his arms and turned her harshly against him, holding her protectively.They sang in perfect harmony.

_'Past the point of no return, the final threshold.  
The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn,  
We've passed the point of no return...'_

He held her close as the music slowly faded and as their voices cleared the lower register. But there was something wrong...there was another chorus he'd been practicing, without music. _Now, say it now! _His mind raced as his heart beat madly. _Say it while she is still in your arms, what you've tried to say all along! _

* * *

Christine rested her head on Erik's collarbone, eyes closed. Her song had been for him, and her energy was spent. Had she known before that kind of singing? She felt lightheaded and so free in his arms. For her part, she'd forgotten the audience watching as Erik held her, only to be reminded of them when the applause began.

_'Bravissima! Stupenda!'_

_'Brava!'_

Embarrassed, Christine stepped away from Erik and both turned to the audience, taking their bows. As a light flashed before them, she laughed in relief. She'd done it. She turned to smile triumphantly at Erik, but stopped. He bowed as well, but his mouth was set in a grim line. _Did it not go well after all?_ Her spirits sank at the thought.

He'd waited too long. In his fear he'd allowed the chance to pass him by. Yes, it was still an excellent performance even without his addition, but he was still so disappointed in himself. Had he been so fully taken in by Christine's performance that he couldn't sing _those_ words to her before an audience?

* * *

When the curtain fell, the audience was still applauding thunderously. They were ushered off-stage for the next performers and Erik took Christine's hand to guide her. As she followed quietly, she bit her lip. He instinctively knew what she would ask.

"You excelled, Christine," he assured her. "You sang like an angel." He patted her hand as she nodded her head. Somehow she still didn't seem content. He sighed. "What's wrong?"

"You didn't seem very happy..." She stopped short as he opened a dressing room for her.

"Your second costume is in here." He led her in. He brought his lips to her ear for the second time that night. "_It's less noticeable if we find each other on the dance floor._"

"But how will I find you?" Her eyes searched his.

"I'll find _you_. Just keep the other mask on. Don't remove it." His lips moved to a small smile as he closed the door. Before anyone could congratulate him for his performance, he slipped into the shadows of the backdrop to change. He'd find her out there among the dancers, he was sure, and then he'd take her back. He wasn't worried about an attempt to escape, but perhaps only because the burden of his disappointment was so great.

* * *

She looked into the mirror in awe. How had Erik made this? And the beautiful white mask? It wasn't an inexpensive mask made of plastic or rubber. As she settled it onto her features, if felt like cool porcelain... _Where did he find all of these masks?_

It was beautiful, and Christine was impressed by his efforts. He must have stayed up for so many nights putting this together. He'd put all of his effort into the performance, but Christine wondered if her performance tonight had truly paid tribute to him as her teacher...

She turned the knob, and headed down to the floor.

* * *

Had it been his imagination, or had that singer looked familiar? Raoul joined the crowd in their cheering regardless – the girl had wonderful talent, and the piece had been something different from the rest of the night's performances. And this girl...she'd been very beautiful, whoever she was.

_But Christine is in Paris with another man_ he shook himself. It was impossible for her to be here. _I must have imagined her..._

"Raoul!" He turned as a girl called his name. She took his arm and frowned. "You seem lost in thought."

He took a good look at the pretty blonde he'd accompanied to the Masquerade on a whim. Her eyes were green, not soft brown, and her skin was more tan than milky. She wasn't Christine. And yet, watching her smile, it wasn't something he could fault her for. Perhaps he'd eventually even stop seeing Christine everywhere...

* * *

Christine watched the couples dancing, everyone hidden behind a glittering facade. She'd spent the past hour wandering amongst the crowd in search of her escort. Which one was Erik, in this room full of mystery? Was he the Prince handing a young girl a pale rose? Or was he the man in the lion's costume, entertaining someone at the punch bowl? No, she wasn't sure where he'd be. Everywhere, anywhere... So she strolled on, eyes darting around the room.

She wore a white ball gown, with wings fashioned lovingly by Erik with light metals and sheer material that caught the light of the room. She was further illuminated by the glittering star burst ornaments that held her hair in place. All this topped by the porcelain-white mask that kept her identity a secret. How could anyone know that she, this glowing vision, was the quiet and ordinary Christine? _No one,_ she reminded herself. _No one saw it but him_. But hadn't she tried making him aware of other things? Hadn't she tried to reach him as she sang this very night, to make him take notice?

In that dark alley one year ago, as her dreams and faith lay at their dying hour, hadn't he done _something_? Whether his ways were misguided or not, he'd intervened and saved her life. And that had made all the difference. What could she say, how could she express to Erik that she understood at least that much?

From the corner of her eye she spotted a man in an 18th century blue gentleman's coat, blonde hair tied back. He was conversing with a very pretty girl in soft pink, laughing now and then.

_"Raoul,"_ she whispered. She had the urge to go and speak to him, embrace her childhood friend again, but stopped herself. Somewhere in this room, Erik was waiting for her. Erik, not Raoul. _I made a decision,_ she reminded herself._ The past for my future._ Perhaps someday, far away from this moment, Erik would understand _her,_ and what she'd tried to let him know on this night. Then there would be freedom. But until then, she knew of his dislike for Raoul, even if she didn't understand the reason for his fear.

* * *

Carlotta looked up with her sapphire eyes. The blue plumes on her mask matched them perfectly. She flashed a triumphant smile before the skull the young man bore for a mask. "We're in the same vocal class. I'm sure you must know who I am, but if you can't guess because of my mask, I'll gladly take it off." She lifted a hand and removed the obstruction, but he'd known who she was all along. Her manners gave her away. She was the red-haired girl with a prima donna complex, who hit high notes to shatter eardrums instead of crystal.

"You're...Erik, aren't you, Death? Won't you take off your mask? It doesn't suit a man who can compose such wonderful music." Her soft red mouth revealed her meaning in a smile. He suspected she'd heard him playing tonight and was probably out to use him for some means. Possibly even trying to be his next Aminta. However Erik was at the moment too interested in the wandering angel behind her and had no desire to add to her inflated sense of self.

"You know, I'm very attracted to talent." She nearly purred in self-contentedness.

"Yes, well, unfortunately, so am I." With that he walked past the huffing prima donna. Tonight, the mask of Death would not bother with a mere girl. Not when something truly beautiful haunted the ballroom.

He knew what Christine had stopped to admire, and felt something inside drop as he watched her, only to rise again as she chose to walk away once again. He wasn't about to let her go, now that she'd chosen him over that boy.

* * *

"_Masquerade, paper faces on parade..."_ Christine didn't need to turn around to know who sang softly behind her. She closed her eyes and turned her head towards the sound, but curiously, each time she could almost feel the breath leave his lips, he moved slightly further. "_Masquerade...Hide your face..."_ She turned her whole body with him as he circled her, relying solely on the sound of his voice. "_So the world will never find you..."_ She felt his hand at her chin, holding it gently to tip it upward. Her eyes willed themselves open to his touch, gazing deeply into the black-rimmed eyes of Death. The green seemed like glowing crystal in that Death's mask.

She saw him extend his hand to her. "Dance with me." He said the words, and they willed her feet to move.

"I'm not very good..." Her eyes darted down to her feet.

"Don't look away." His commanding voice raised her eyes to meet his intense gaze. It was as if he wove a spell around her. Her apprehension at the dance seemed to fade as she took his hand and his arm wrapped itself around her waist. Everything dissolved from her vision except those eyes.

* * *

As _The Lover's Waltz_ began, the crowd fanned out in search of partners. Those who'd already found partners began a circle around the room and began their spins. Gently, Erik led her through the slow count, never taking his eyes off of hers. Every few rotations, his right hand would guide her for a spin under his left, and catch up to bring her back into his embrace. As he'd thought, her inability to dance came from her nervousness, not inexperience. Most musicians had a natural sense of tempo, after all. And here they were, master and diva.

When Christine began to feel the relaxation he'd wanted her to, she still did not break eye contact. A shy smile appeared as she looked at him, and Erik found his breath being taken away by how beautiful she was. Could he, in his wildest dreams, have imagined Christine in his arms, smiling for him, not looking away?

_And yet you couldn't sing those words, could you? _He flinched as he acknowledged that fact. He hadn't been able to trust her enough, to _know_ how she would react, to sing for her. As the song ended he broke contact immediately, much to Christine's surprise.

"Erik?" Her hand touched his shoulder gently. Her eyes were full of concern. "Erik, what's wrong?" She questioned him and he seemed to feel despair well up at her tenderness. _If you won't care for me, don't show me such sweetness, _Erik thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Christine. I believe I'm not feeling very well." He wouldn't go so far as too remove his mask in public, but he brought his hand to his brow. It was quickly snatched up by her hand.

"If you're ill, we shouldn't stay." Christine smiled. "Let's go home, Erik. It's been a long night for you, hasn't it?" She gave his hand a little tug in assurance, letting him know it was all right to leave. Finally he nodded his head.

"Let's go home, then."

* * *

The car trip had been very quiet as Christine continued to watch him with a little worry even long after he'd assured her he was feeling better. He couldn't tell her that it was her gaze that unnerved him. He'd failed to change anything at the ball and regretted it deeply. What would his failure mean once he had her in his home, once again locked away from everything?

Christine also thought about her life. She'd triumphed for an audience, but had failed herself. Now she was simply going to return to their sterile life together. It had been all right in the beginning...she'd preferred it when he wasn't near...but that had changed. Now...now she knew everything _had_ to be different.

He walked quickly to the door with her, giving her his coat to keep her from catching cold in the midnight air. He knew it would be snowing soon. It didn't cheer him up as he entered his apartment quietly with her, locking the door behind them, because they were alone now. She handed him the coat silently and went to change without a word. He instead sat at the piano bench and placed his masked head in his hands.

He didn't know what more he could say to her. He'd taught her well, he'd given her the spotlight as he'd promised...he was done. But he couldn't find it in himself to face this kind of maddening silence, even if he'd learned to live with it for so long. It was necessity alone that had nurtured that ability, but Christine's smiling presence had shattered it.

_What can I do now..?_

* * *

She sighed as she hung the dress in her closet. She wore only her chemise now, and the rest of her costume was being put away. All that remained was the white mask. Though it was beautiful, she felt as though she ought not to keep it. Somehow it belonged only to Erik. She picked up the mask and opened the door and went out into the den. She found him sitting at the bench, but not playing.

"Erik... your mask..." She stretched it out to him as he rose. "I don't think I should keep it. You've taken such care of it, and..."

"Thank you." He took the mask from her and turned to place it on top of the bench. He remained with his back to her, unable to think of something else to say to keep her with him a while longer.

"I think I'll go to bed now," she said quietly, finding nothing else to say either.

He knew she was leaving without another word to him, and he couldn't bear it. The thought of another night berating himself for his foolish hopes, for the gentility in his voice when he spoke to her. He wanted to curse her for the way she'd broken him, but he couldn't find it in himself to do so.

"Christine." He heard her pause. What was in his black, shriveled heart at this moment? What could he do to change the unhappy future he'd forced on them both? Turning, he opened his mouth, and his voice came out in a haunting lilt.

'_Say you'll share with me,_

_One love, one lifetime...'_

He wanted to stop! He wanted so badly to stop singing, and yet he knew he couldn't. It flowed from some place he couldn't control. His body even moved forward as she was struck dumbfounded.

'_Lead me, save me,_

_From my solitude..._

_Say you want me with you,_

_Here, beside you'_

His voice stabilized, and he took her hands in his. Those eyes bored into her. _Don't leave me,_ they seemed to beg. Christine watched him, praying. These words...she recognized these words. He'd sung them by himself, so many weeks ago. _Anywhere..._ As he gripped her hand with both of his she felt something overflowing inside her. Her free hand wandered to his masked cheek, and felt for the edge of the mask.

_'Anywhere you go, _

_let me go, too!_

_Christine, that's all I ask of-'_

She ripped it off. And there he was, standing bare before her. There was no deception, no play-acting in his features. He only watched her desperately, and she knew she'd removed the mask and found the man.

The moment of suspense he felt as she took off his mask and stared seemed like an eternity. He could see the tears begin to sting her eyes, and began to look away when he felt the weight of her arms around him.

A kiss. Her lips touched his in a reverent manner. Such a simple, innocent act, but Erik felt as if he could die happily at this moment. She had kissed him for the first time...it was the first kiss Erik had ever been granted! As he fell before her, she knelt to cradle his head to her shoulder. Her tears slipped down to his upturned face, and it seemed so odd to Erik that her tears could fall even as she smiled so beautifully at him.

* * *

AN: Ta-da! Lots of stuff happening, mon amis! And, by the way, I love waltz, which is why I included it here :)

Will you, again, answer my call for reviews?


	27. Those Eyes That Burn

AN: Procrastination! Here's the next chapter, for all of the people who've left me such kind reviews! Please continue to do so, and I'll keep trying my best.

Disclaimer: Own nothing :(

Phantom 27

* * *

She had let the last tear run its course, never wiping at her cheek. Now the trail had dried on her soft skin, proof that something had happened, something very important. Those tears, and Erik's head cradled at her shoulder. Now that her tears were spent, she looked down at him, and realized his gaze had been directed at her this whole time. She opened her mouth a little, but didn't know what to say. What more was there to say between them? He knew how she felt, and he had sung such wonderful words for her ears alone. But he was watching her so intently, waiting for her reaction.

"I don't know what to do now." It was nowhere near as poetic and beautiful as what he'd said, but she was honest. The relief was still there, but she had no idea how to proceed. She feared she'd offended him as he released himself from her embrace. He looked away a moment and swallowed, as if he were also trying to find the right words.

"I'm afraid, Christine, that I'm at a loss, too." Was this the same man who'd dared her to defy his will? Who had terrified her? There was something new about him, as if he'd been reborn the moment he'd sung to her. This new honesty, she thought, suited him immensely.

Christine brought her hands up uncertainly to touch his uncovered face. "Please," she said softly. Though he inhaled deeply as he felt her fingers, this time he remained still for her. When her fingers danced across his cheek, she could not have imagined the painful happiness he felt at the touch. When her hands came to rest on either side of his face, she could not have fathomed his longing. But there were those eyes, speaking to her in a language she had yet to master. _Those eyes..._

She tilted her head up slightly, and moved her lips to his. It embarrassed her, this desire to kiss him again, but when he returned the kiss it seemed to fade. No, she was not sure what to do or how to proceed, but here they were. Kissing. She pulled away softly and opened her eyes only to discover he'd never closed his.

"You didn't close your eyes." She felt conspicuous, knowing she'd been watched as she'd given in to those warm feelings.

"No," he whispered. He took one of her hands and squeezed it, still looking at her. "I was afraid to."

"Afraid?" She seemed surprised that Erik understood the word's meaning. "Why?"

"Perhaps, if I closed my eyes, you would not be here when I opened them," Erik admitted softly. Christine felt the pressure of his other hand at her cheek, but kept her eyes on his. _Those eyes that burn..._. She wondered, how could she live unhappily now that she'd felt this tenderness from him?

Her face lit up in a half smile as she brought one hand over to cover his. "I'm here, Erik." She guided her head until it rested on his chest. "I promised you, didn't I?" she murmured, turning her head so she could hear his heartbeat. "I won't leave you."

_Yes,_ Erik reminded himself, _she promised._ He looked down to see her curled into him. He was unsure, maybe even more afraid than he'd been before, but the feel of her willing touch was overwhelming him.

"Erik?" She spoke so quietly, slightly embarrassed. "Will you...just hold me?" She brought a hand up to grasp his collared shirt. "For just a little while?" Even if she didn't know what to do, she knew what she wanted at this exact moment. _To stay close to him, just a little longer.._.

His arms held her as if she might break, and his chin rested softly in her mass of curls. He didn't need to tell her he would always, _always_ be there to hold her like this. He knew that unlike that near-murderous night so long ago, Christine now held fast to him from the pure desire to. She was not comforting him, trying to calm his anger. Her touch was as selfish as his own had been – she _wanted_ to be this close. The relief of possession was an entirely new emotion to Erik, but he welcomed it. _She is my Eve,_ he thought to himself.

* * *

When Christine awoke, she was no longer in his arms. She was not in the den, either. Instead she was safely tucked into bed. And when she turned her head slightly, there he was, watching her from the chair with those curious eyes. She smiled shyly, unsure of what to do. "Good morning, Erik."

"Good morning, Christine."

She sat up. "Have you been here all night?" Erik's small nod surprised her. "Didn't you sleep?"

"I didn't need to." Erik watched her look at him curiously, but he wouldn't elaborate.

"But aren't you tired, Erik?" She turned her body to face him now. "The last few days you've hardly had any rest. I can't understand what gives you this kind of energy."

"You." The pause between them gave him time to stand and move to the door. "I'm preparing breakfast."

"All right," she whispered. As he closed the door behind him, the rose blush crept over her cheeks. What manner of man was he? She brought a hand up to cover her mouth. How could he, by simply uttering one word, make her feel as though he'd kissed her again? True, the pressure of his lips was absent, but her heart was beating so fast that she felt like it would leap out at any moment. Was this, Christine wondered, one of the more wonderful aspects of love?

* * *

"Good morning, Inspector." Thelma spoke cheerfully, handing Nadir his morning coffee and paper along with some files. Nadir sighed and nodded his head. Ever since he'd been trying to piece together the disappearance of Christine Daae, he hadn't been able to sleep well.

He'd exhausted his leads with Raoul. The poor boy knew little and had been driven to find her only after he'd seen that clipping of her in the newspaper. The only thing he'd been sure of was that he'd met her one rainy night and given her an old violin. It had even been this apparition that had told Raoul she had been in Europe and would be returning to Paris.

_Who is this girl who appears and disappears like a phantom? Like...like.._

"Erik," he murmured. What had transpired between those two? It still remained a mystery, but he knew he wasn't wrong. Somehow things were not as Erik had made them seem. He'd known Erik for years now, ever since that terrible night the boy had played that requiem, but he could not understand him.

A knock on his open door made him look up. One of the other investigators, Rogers or something like that, stood smiling.

"Nadir, I was just wondering if you were looking at the sports section in your paper." His words reminded Nadir that he had the paper on his desk. He shook his head. "Mind if I...?"

"No, of course not." Nadir shuffled through the paper and took out the sports section. He handed it to the investigator, but as Rogers took it, another section slipped out. Rogers bent over and picked it up, handing it back to Nadir after taking up the sports section.

"You took out the entertainment section, too. See you later, Nadir."

Nadir nodded in acknowledgment and sat back down, looking at the section he'd just been handed as his eyes narrowed in intent focus...

* * *

Erik had surprised her this morning, and she had been left aflame by his one word. Now that she'd regained her senses, she nearly flew out of bed. She took her time picking out the day's clothes and then fixing her hair. It was odd. She'd lived so long with him, but today she was nervous. Taking her pink ribbon in her hands, she tied up the thick french braid she'd made.

"Christine," he called out from the other room. Had his voice ever been so loud and sure before, when he called her name?

"Coming," she answered. With one last look into her vanity, she joined him in the den. Her eyes found him setting down a tray on the coffee table, a pile of books beside it. Erik watched her carefully, and swallowed as he knelt down. He held out a hand to her, and Christine followed his lead.

"I thought," he said softly, handing her a cup of tea, "I thought it might be pleasant to stay here and read with you today."

Christine watched, a little surprised. She took the cup and set it beside her. She gave it a little look. "Is this the same tea you've given me the past month?"

"No," he shook his head. "it's only Earl Grey. You need to rest after that performance, so you don't need to worry about singing today." She smiled softly as he spoke, knowing he meant it. Reaching behind him, she picked up a book and handed it out to him.

"Would you read it out loud to me?" She sat beside him, and her hands turned to the right section as she settled her head on his shoulder. "You said I should rest today after all."

Erik picked up the book, but looked at her as she came closer. He knew exactly where to begin reading, but he wanted to watch her a moment longer before he began reading the line she'd pointed to. before the line she'd pointed to.

_Footfalls echo in the memory  
Down the passage which we did not take  
Towards the door we never opened  
Into the rose garden..._

* * *

There was a moment where everything had gone black in the detective's mind. Nadir set the entertainment section on the desk and brought a hand to his chin.

"No," he murmured. It wasn't possible...and yet, the photograph looked so much like...

He pulled open his desk drawer and produced an old news clipping, then a magnifying glass. _No..this isn't him_, he thought to himself. _Erik would not break his promise to me..._But there he was, clad in a black mask for the whole of the city to see. And then there was the girl beside him... the mysterious apparition.

"Christine Daae."

_Damn Erik to hell for this..._

* * *

They'd grown bored with poems, and had settled into the opening scene of _Dr. Faustus._ Christine closed her eyes as he read, wanting to remember everything about his voice from its tone to the reverberation of his chest as he spoke.

"Am I boring you, Christine?" He paused a moment to look at her. She smiled and shook her head. "Are you perhaps still tired, then?"

"No, I'm perfectly fine." She paused a moment. "Although...I was thinking about how odd life is just now."

"Odd?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes, a year ago I couldn't have pictured this. Any of it. Love was...is..." She admitted this as if embarrassed, but Erik took one of her hands in his and brought it to his chest so that she could feel his heartbeat.

"I...never thought I had...the right to..." His tripping words were stopped, however, by the incessant ringing of his cell phone. They looked at each other a moment, and Christine nodded her head. Erik rose and went into the kitchen to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Erik."

Erik sighed with frustration at the Daroga's timing. "Daroga, I thought we'd made our peace already." What more could the nosy man want?

"I was only calling to congratulate you, Erik. I saw the paper this morning." The unspoken meaning in the detective's voice made Erik pause. Slowly Erik made sense of the man's words. Somehow, some mention must have been made in the newspaper.

"It was only once, Daroga. I won't..."

"Your singer is very beautiful, but she reminds me of someone," Nadir commented. Erik shut his eyes quickly. The flashes of light he'd seen as they'd performed had been cameras. And Nadir, who never read the entertainment section, had seen it. "Do you know why that is, Erik?"

Erik was at a loss. There was nothing to be gained in this conversation, only one very precious thing to be held onto. "No, I don't."

"Please, don't insult us both by feigning stupidity," Nadir responded harshly. "Come and meet me. At the park, off the Fifth."

"When?"

"Now. Right now." Nadir hung up, leaving Erik little room to argue.

What would he do? Of course, he had no option but to meet his old friend. Somehow, this affair had come to light, and now was not the time to further upset the Persian man. But what to say to _her_! He wanted nothing more than to read with her, be near her, but he had to leave. It was for both their sakes. He picked his keys up from the hook and stepped out of the kitchen. Christine heard him approach and looked up, head to one side.

"What's wrong, Erik?"

"Nothing..I think I ought to make a quick trip, though." He slipped on his coat. "I don't have anything to prepare for dinner. I completely forgot about it." He watched her raise an eyebrow, a small smirk on her face.

"That doesn't sound like you."

Erik nodded his head slowly, but said nothing. He unlocked the door. "I'll be back soon." He didn't know what would happen now, but he would come back. He would not lie to her.

* * *

AN: Thank Cymbidium for her quick, excellent work! Please, leave reviews and wait for the next installment. If there are lots of reviews, I will work hard at the story and procrastinate more on my exams :) 


	28. There Will Never Be a Day

Paradise Lost

Chapter 28 - editing completed

AN: This is where the sh# hits the fan, guys and gals. Let me know how I'm doing, ok? I mean, I did skip a review session to finish writing this...(I know I'm a terrible student...)

Thank you Cymbidium for all of your hard work!

Disclaimer: I am but a poor student...nuff said.

Ch 28

* * *

Nadir dialed his home number as he walked to the park. As it rang, angry words filled his head, but were quickly stifled as his wife picked up. It was not towards Antoinette that he felt this animosity. 

"Nadir? Are you calling because you'll be home late again?" Mrs. Giry sighed. If her roast went cold one more time...

"I'm sorry, Antoinette." He smoothed over his wife's annoyance. "I was just handed a lead on a very important case. I wouldn't ruin your dinner plans otherwise."

"Just be sure to kiss Madeleine good night." She gave up. Her husband sounded very intent on seeing this case through to the end, whatever it was.

"I will." Nadir smiled a little at the thought of his little girl, then hung up on his wife. Now he stood beside a park bench, watching the streetlights as they began to flicker on. Then, out of one of the shadows, he saw a figure approaching in a black coat.

"Good evening, Erik."

"Daroga."

Nadir sat down on the bench, but Erik remained standing. "No more games."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Daroga," Erik feigned. "I thought we'd put this nasty business behind us already."

"Explain this, then." Nadir stood and pulled out the newspaper, flinging it at Erik. He was angry now and had given up any desire to restrain that emotion.

Erik picked up the fallen paper carefully, looking at the photograph. It was Christine, still dressed as Aminta, in his arms. The caption _'Masquerade Displays Up and Coming Talent_' didn't fill him with any sense of pride or accomplishment. "If you're angry because I broke our deal..."

"That's one reason, yes," Nadir replied, agitated. "You swore to me, Erik. You swore, in exchange for your freedom, that you would live a quiet life."

"I remember," Erik said quietly, "and I've abided by those rules, Daroga. I wore a mask..."

"That didn't keep me from identifying you! If someone's curious about your identity at the university, all they'd have to do is speak to the music department now." Nadir shook his head. "No, Erik- it's over. You'll have to withdraw from the school now."

"I know." Erik had planned it all along. He'd known after that night that he wouldn't return. But it had been worth it for _her._ To have her sing _his_ song before the multitude, to have her gaze into his eyes with love, and to feel the soft touch of her lips on his...

"Good. Now, explain Christine."

* * *

Christine knelt by the piano bench, her head lying to one side on the smooth black top. She looked inquisitively at the white mask she'd worn the previous night. After returning from the Masquerade, in the aftermath of their actions, Erik had never put it back in his room. 

_His room, the only one I've never been in..._She lifted a finger and traced the contour of the porcelain. Why did he own such a beautiful mask? Though kept in excellent condition, it felt old. She wondered when he'd gotten it, if it perhaps unlocked a very precious memory for him. _Erik_, she wondered, _do you have a reason to keep yourself locked away?_ She knew she should be patient with him, allow time to open up the forbidden doors...and yet, time is always too fast or too slow when one is in love...

Mr. Firmin smiled widely, gripping the receiver in his excitement. "Yes, it was an excellent article...yes, the students were an excellent reflection of the music department." He chuckled to himself. It had been one of his better ideas to use the exams as a basis for choosing the participants. They'd all done so well. One in particular had really impressed them all. "Do you have everything you need for your column, Mr...?"

"Not quite," answered the young man's voice. "The editor was very curious about _your_ take on the students who performed."

"Really?" Mr. Firmin stroked his moustache. The editor of a major newspaper wanted _his_ thoughts! Those words made him giddy. Finally, prestige awaited him. "Well, as I said, they were quite wonderful."

"But...if you had to pick the best of the night's events, wouldn't it be that operatic performance?"

"By far," Firmin agreed. "It will have been my crowning achievement, teaching that protege of mine."

"Ah, so you taught him?"

"Everything he knows," Mr. Firmin answered haughtily. "The boy's always been so quiet. It finally took my encouragement for him to perform."

"I see," said the voice on the other end. "And, for the article...what might his name be?"

* * *

Erik had told the detective everything. What else could he do but stand there and tell him about that one perilous night where he was forced to make a decision? He left out things, naturally, things pertaining only to himself and Christine that should not be told to anyone else. That much he owed to her. 

"She's been living with me for over a year now," Erik finished. What else was there to say?

Nadir, naturally, was furious.

"The girl, Erik!" the Daroga cried, hands at his hair. "God damn me for helping you, but I thought you'd been forced to kill her! And here you have her as a prisoner?" He was breathing hard, looking at Erik as if he'd strangle him any minute even as he tried to compose himself. Erik remained as he was, trying to keep the cool demeanor that Nadir had always hated about him.

The detective stood and walked over to him, placing a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Let her go, Erik. She doesn't deserve to be caged up like this. She's a human being, not a pet."

"I can't let her go," Erik murmured softly. _No, I can't do this now..._

"You have to, Erik." He was losing his patience with the boy. "She doesn't belong with you, you must!"

"But I can't!" he whispered fiercely, shrugging the detective's hold off. "She's not a pet, Daroga," He calmed down, speaking with a tiredness he suddenly felt. "She's my Eve."

"What?" Nadir looked at him a moment, baffled, but Erik would say no more. He turned away, unable to keep his cool facade. Reality dawned upon the detective, and he reacted. He brought his hands to Erik's shoulders and forced him to look him in the eye. "Erik, the girl is not your Eve." Erik's eyes wandered down, but Nadir shook him with a force he'd never felt before.

"Damn you, listen!" he shouted. Erik finally looked up. "You've locked her away, just as you were locked away."

"No..."

"Yes, yes you have," insisted Nadir. "You've locked her away in a dark place and kept her from everyone. Erik, you know what happens to people who are caged in like that."

"No, not to her. It won't..."

"It will. She's sick, and the longer she remains with you the more twisted she'll become. Like you." His voice was grainy, unrestrained emotion. "My god, Erik, the relationship you think she has with you – it's the Stockholm syndrome if I've ever heard of a case!" He saw Erik flinch again. "If you know any goodness, Erik, let me take her away."

"No," he nearly growled. Nadir took a step away, allowing Erik to feel a little control.

"Why are you so unwilling?" Nadir asked softly. "Is it because you know that once the fog's been lifted from her mind, that she won't willingly return? That once your hold..."

"If you value your life, you will stop this." Erik threatened, looking at him with narrowed eyes like an animal that knows it's been cornered.

Nadir smiled sadly. "You would kill me, just to hurt her further." Nadir shook his head. "If you care anything for her, you must let her go. If not, she will die."

Nadir turned away, unable to bear the painful expression on Erik's face. Even on their first meeting, he'd never seen _that_ look on the boy's face.

"I'm picking her up tomorrow morning, at your building. I know Antoinette still has a copy of your key, I'll let myself in. If you try to hide her, I will consider our bond severed and come after you. I _will_ do it, Erik."

He walked away just as Erik fell to his knees, his hands grasping the asphalt, his head lifted to the sky, ready to cry but no sound escaping.

* * *

Christine decided to entertain herself with a little housework as she waited for Erik to return. With the broom Erik kept in the pantry she began to sweep the kitchen floor, humming a tune. Eventually, she forgot what she'd been doing altogether and simply sang out joyfully. 

_'Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly,_

_When we've said goodbye...'_

Erik paused, and rested his back to the wall. With a hand he covered his face as he heard Christine singing in the kitchen. Their time was ending. Nadir would make good on his word, and as much as he wanted to believe Christine, he understood what Nadir had told him. Being in isolation did things to the mind – hadn't he realized that in the years after his own liberation? _She doesn't mean it,_ he thought to himself, _she doesn't understand what she's said to me..._

_'Flowers fade,_

_The fruits of summer fade-_

_They have their seasons, so do we.._

_But, please promise me_

_That sometimes_

_You will think of me...'_

_There will never be a day_, he moaned, _when I will not. _Curse God, the universe, anything that had willingly created him! At this moment, Erik longed for anything but existence.

"Erik?" He looked up to see her watching him. "I thought I'd heard the door open..."

At the sight of her, his conversation with the Daroga weighing heavily on his mind, the realization of what was to happen in the morning came crashing down upon him, and he suddenly felt his legs give out. He sank once again to his knees at the sight of her. He would not look at her like this again...

"Erik!" She ran over and knelt beside him, hands at his shoulders. "Are you all right?"

Erik didn't respond, instead he looked at her fair hands, trying to memorize how they felt against his clothes. With effort, he shrugged her off and stood, but she was right at his side.

"I told you, Erik, you need rest," she scolded quietly. "You've gone without sleep for so long, it's bound to make you feel weak." She lifted one of his arms and rested it on her shoulder. "Lean on me, and we'll lie you down in your room."

He walked slowly with her, stopping at one point to hold out the key to the room with a trembling hand. "Will you...come in with me?" He asked as she opened the door, earning him a surprised nod.

His room was beautiful. The rich colors – burgundy, black, cherrywood – all seemed to be exactly blended together in it. The stately desk at one corner seemed too large for the room, and yet fit very well with the armoire that sat next to it. The large cherrywood canopy bed, with its dark red sheets, seemed like the kind of bed one would find in a palace. It astounded her, but she had other worries on her mind.

She sat Erik down and bent to remove his shoes. She then sat on the edge of the bed, hands once again at his shoulders. "Lie down," she said quietly. He, in turn, simply watched her as she helped him lie down. Once he lay there, Christine looked down to his tired face. Her hand raked through his dark hair slowly, a smile on her face. "Honestly, Erik, don't scare me like that."

She ran her fingers through his hair again, only to have her hand caught by one of his. his other arm around her waist. He tugged only slightly, and she fell on him.

Her face beet red, she looked at Erik. He, instead of feigning innocence, smirked. He brought her hand up to his lips, and felt the warm skin under his lips. _Just a little time...just a little longer..._

"Erik?" He heard her nervous voice, and watched her eyes dart over his face.

"Stay with me tonight," he murmured. "Don't leave."

* * *

AN: Yay, chapter done! Please review and let me know what you think! It really is rewarding for me to read the reviews! 

By the way, I actually did pretty well on my first exam...now for the following ones... :(


	29. I Love You

AN: Yay, next chapter up! Thanks Cymbidium, for all the help! And to all you reviewers- thank you from the bottom of my heart. I get a happy, healthy lil high from reading your comments, and need my buzz. Please continue to help me out!

Disclaimer: I got soul and little else.

Ch 29

* * *

He brought her hand to his mouth, and felt the warm skin under his lips.

"Erik?"

He heard her nervous voice, and watched her eyes dart over his face.

"Stay with me tonight," he murmured. "Don't leave."

She watched him, not knowing what to do or say quite yet. What was the next natural progression in their relationship? They'd lived so closely, but were they...

His hand lifted itself to trace the features of her face, making her thoughts stand still. He traced the curve of her cheekbone, down to her jaw, and then to her lips with long, feathery strokes. She closed her eyes to capture the fleeting feel of his touch. He touched her lightly without hesitation now, as if to commit to memory each and every sensation of her softness and warmth against his fingers. Then he kissed her gently, and she decided. She settled into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and closing the gap between them. She held fast to him, more afraid of letting go than of what might happen now.

He knew she was willing to be with him, and he knew that he'd never hold her like this again. And yet, it was this same knowledge that forced him to deny himself. Instead, he rose a little and laid her down beside him. He pulled away for a moment to watch her, painting her portrait in his mind. Her beautiful chocolate locks fell around the blood red silk sheets, and her skin seemed to glow ethereal. With a hand he smoothed back a lock of her hair, watching her close her eyes to revel in his touch was almost too much for him to bear. He wanted her more than she would ever know, even though he wanted nothing more now than to show her what he was feeling was _real_...but he knew what Nadir had said was right. She knew nothing, and after she was taken away Christine would hate him. No, he could not hurt her.

"Erik?" she called to him, waking him from his trance. She raised her head a little, brushing her forehead against his cheek. "If you wanted to..."

"Christine..." He spoke as if he begged. He laid down next to her and placed a hand at her throat, stroking it gently. "Christine, will you talk to me?"

She was caught off guard, both by the manner of his request and the cool touch of his hand. She turned slightly to face him. "About what?"

"Anything," he answered. "Your childhood, your memories...anything. Just...let me fall asleep hearing your voice."

"Shall I sing for you, then?"

"No. I want to listen to _you_." He twirled a curl around a finger. "I don't want to hear Gounod or Mozart. Just you."

What could she say to that? What could she do, other than bite her lip a moment before speaking? "I've dreamed of being a singer since I was a child. My father loved opera, and he even joked about taking me to Paris to perform."

"It wasn't a joke, I'm sure," Erik said quietly, looking at her. "You have great talent, Christine."

She smiled shyly and looked away, resuming her story. "I lived in an old house by the sea, with Mama Valerius and father."

"And your birth mother?"

"I never met her. She died giving birth to me." She looked at his somber face and smiled. "It's all right, Erik. Mama Valerius took wonderful care of me, and treated me like a mother. I never had a reason to feel upset as a child. Only..."

"Only...?"

"I believe my mother had a beautiful voice. She was my father's muse, you know. And I think, perhaps, that carving on my father's violin is the only portrait I have of her."

"That explains why you were so desperate to acquire it." He remembered her pleas, and her ultimate escape, and now he understood. That violin he'd had refurbished was precious to her because it reminded her of both parents.

"Yes, my father used to play for hours in that cottage by the sea. But it wasn't until Raoul came along that our family truly came together." Christine knew that name was a sore spot for Erik, but she took his hand in reassurance. "I'd never had a friend my age before him. We lived somewhat away from the nearest town, and all I had were father and Mama Valerius. Raoul was the only little boy who would gladly ride his bike for miles just to learn to play the violin and play with me."

"You loved him," was all Erik could say. How could she not?

"As much as a child can," she admitted. "I loved him like I loved those carefree afternoons at the beach, or picnics in the attic -- as memories that I can't be parted with." She watched as he looked away a moment, but with her hand at his cheek she drew him back to her. "I'm not a child anymore, Erik. I know these are all just memories of my childhood and nothing more."

"And I?" he asked quietly. "Will I just become a memory and nothing more to you someday?" He felt her shift in the bed and watched her hover over him before setting her head on his chest.

"I'll remember everything about you, Erik, but you could never become just a memory." Her heart was beating madly, and she had to look away. "My love for my childhood is different from my love for you."

"Christine..." The bittersweet words made him feel as if he'd endured his entire cruel life just to die after hearing those words. It had been worth it, he decided.

"Erik," she murmured into his shirt, "I love you."

* * *

"Antoinette, where is the key to Erik's apartment?" Nadir dropped his coat on a chair and turned to see his wife stand.

"Can you not greet your wife a little more politely?" Mrs. Giry frowned a little. Nadir went to her and kissed her cheek softly.

"I'm sorry, but I need that key."

"Whatever for?" Mrs. Giry grew a little alarmed at her husband's urgency. He seemed very on edge about something. "Would you like to have some dinner first? It's really very late and..."

"No, I'm sorry, Antoinette, but I can't rest until I have that key." His eyes met hers, making his intent known. He was going into Erik's home uninvited.

"Do not do this, Nadir." She spoke quietly and slowly, as if to a child who could not comprehend what he was going to do. "Erik doesn't like us to intrude..."

"I've told him I intend to visit him. He knows he can't stop me." Nadir moved to the key hook by the kitchen counter and picked up her set. "Is it on here?"

"Why are you doing this, Nadir? What's the matter?" She was growing more alarmed by his plan and was quite startled when he slammed his palm down on the countertop.

"Did you know, Antoinette?" He turned to look at her, but was not angry. His eyes were tired, filled with a kind of sadness she could not fathom. "Did you know that Christine Daae is still alive...and that she's been _living _with him?"

Antoinette sighed. How much she knew didn't matter now. She'd had an inkling, but now she was certain, and knew what Nadir wanted to do. She turned and opened the china cabinet, pulling out a little rag doll. Fishing in the petticoat pocket, she produced the key. She placed it gently on the counter for him, and turned to leave. "For what it's worth, I think he loves her."

"It's not about him...it's about this girl. I don't think it possible for her to genuinely love him. I don't think he's told her everything."

* * *

"Christine, how can you say that?" Erik whispered hoarsely. He sat up, pulling her with him. "How can you love me, when you don't know me?"

Christine still gripped his shirt, her forehead bumping against his chest. "Because I _do_ know you." She looked up at him. "I know your anger, and I know your cruelty...and I know your kindness and beauty." She traced his cheek with her hand. "I love you, because you are my angel of music."

He caught her hand, puzzled. "What?"

"My father spoke of an angel of music who would come to me in my time of need." She tilted her head up to his ear. "You saved me, Erik. You're the angel I was waiting for."

There was a time when that would have made him the happiest of men, but that time had passed. Now, he knew exactly what Nadir had spoken of. She wasn't looking at him as a man, but as an angel, fulfilling a prophecy of her sweet childhood. Now he knew what had to happen, and he felt something breaking quickly. He had not been this fragile when he'd lived in darkness, or when his parents had left this world, but everything was shattering inside him now.

In an instant he had his arms wrapped around her. He held her fast, refusing to let her twist around to see his expression.

"Erik?" she questioned. He sighed, trying to regain his composure, but failed. He felt her hands wrap themselves around him, and felt the small smile on her lips. "Erik, it's all right. I'm not leaving you."

She held him fast, and felt the shivering of his body. _Those words still cause you to feel those unshed tears..._ She'd hold him until they both fell asleep, talking about her family now and then.

Christine did not feel the slight trickle of a few stray tears as they slid down his perfect cheek.

* * *

Nadir sat on the couch staring into the cup of coffee he'd brewed for himself. Time was ticking by quickly, and he knew what he'd have to do soon. He was certain his wife wouldn't mind having a guest, at least until he could return the girl to her normal life again. Perhaps Antoinette would even enjoy the company.

He sighed, leaning back. When had everything become such a mess for all of them? And Erik...could things ever go back to their sort of normal after this? Nadir was unsure of everything, but there was no other choice in his mind -- the girl had to be made to see reality...and then, she might never forgive Erik for what he had done to her.

_Was it kind of me, then, to let him live this long alone?_

* * *

Erik opened his eyes and turned to look at the alarm clock. It glared the time at him: 6AM. Morning, and his time was ending. He turned, and saw Christine slumbering next to him, one of his arms held protectively in hers. On her face there was no fear or disgust, but a peace that comes from pleasant dreams.

She'd spoken of her childhood, of her dreams and loves, and he'd listened and carved her words into his heart. He couldn't remember when they'd fallen asleep, but she must have kept talking the entire time because he could remember the lilt of her voice just as he'd closed his eyes. Christine must have then decided to lie next to him, to stay together a little longer. He smiled only a little and ran a hand softly over her hair, careful not to wake her. _This...this is enough,_ he decided, _this is all I'll take from you._

He carefully untangled himself from where he lay next to her and slipped away. There was something he had to prepare before his detective came.

* * *

Christine opened her eyes, and sat up. It took a moment for her to remember she was in Erik's room, and to realize that Erik wasn't in the room anymore. She stood and walked out of the room, looking for him. "Erik?" She turned into her room, but he wasn't there. "Erik, where are you?" He didn't respond, making her wonder. She quickly entered the den and sighed in relief when she saw him setting down a breakfast tray on the coffee table.

"I thought you were still sleeping," Erik said quietly. He thought quickly. There wouldn't be enough time to stir in the...

"Oh, I think I must have smelled breakfast," she beamed.

He nodded his head and walked past her. "I left something in my room, I'll be right back."

"All right..." She observed his rushed manner. Was he embarrassed about their time together last night? She blushed a little, and decided to wait until he came back before beginning to eat.

* * *

In his room Erik pulled out a little bottle from his dresser drawer, then a handkerchief. He stuffed both into his pants pocket, then rested his hands against the dresser. _Christine..._ he squeezed his eyes shut, forbidding the tears to fall, _I won't keep you. Not like this._

He entered the den just in time to hear the lock of the front door click. He watched as Christine's face changed to surprise and she turned to the door. He quickly went to her and took hold of her hand, getting her attention.

"Erik..." She looked into his face with worry. "Erik, who's at the door?"

"Do you remember last night?" he asked softly, his other hand reaching into his pocket. He slipped the handkerchief out slowly.

"Erik..." She heard the door open, and turned away. He pulled her a step closer, refusing to be ignored as the detective entered.

"Do you still want to sing in Paris?" Erik asked, a little louder this time. His other hand felt the damp cloth.

"I...yes.." She looked at him as if he were losing his mind, and when he dropped her hand she quickly turned to see their guest. "Who are..."

Christine could not finish her question. Erik brought the cloth over her mouth and nose with one hand, and the other wrapped itself around her waist. "I want to see you sing in Paris, too." He felt her struggle and try to cry out as she looked at him wide-eyed. "Let's meet again, in Paris," he whispered to her hoarsely as she went slack.

He wanted to lift her into his arms, but Erik was too late. Nadir picked her up gently, wary of the stunned Erik. "I'll take her from here." He moved away slowly as Erik nodded dumbly. He looked down at the girl's expressionless face. _It's all right, Miss Daae, you're going to be fine now..._

"Wait." Nadir stopped in his tracks, and watched as his ward walked to them. He flinched in disapproval as Erik bent his head to look at her once more.

"I won't touch her, Daroga." Erik glared at him a moment longer before turning back to look at her. Christine was at peace now, looking so frail and beautiful. He bent a little closer, just until he could hear her breathing.

Nadir watched him with pity and anger at turns. How could he do this to a girl like her? How had he learned compassion? It all hurt to think about now, but he knew his greater duty was towards Christine right now.

"..._you._" Nadir barely heard the last word, but the lament behind it touched his heart. As Erik moved away, Nadir decided not to extend the boy's anguish. As quietly as he'd entered the apartment, he and Christine left it.

* * *

Christine felt the warm breath of another person on her cheek, and felt someone's gaze on her. But for whatever reason, she could not will herself to even open her eyes. Instead, she felt her mind going numb. Then she heard those words. _Who_, she wondered before the darkness claimed her, _who says these words with so much sorrow?_

'_Christine, I love you...'_

* * *

_AN: Sad...this made me really, really sad...so please review and let me know what you thought...otherwise I'll get even more sad and not write for a while :(_


	30. My Solitude

_AN: _Well, here it is, just before Thanksgiving. I am thankful to all of the wonderful readers who leave me reviews about the story's progress. I know this chapter may be a little difficult for some of you, but bear with me. You won't be disappointed by the story's end (look at me, getting all cocky...)

Disclaimer: I own nothing...if I did, do you think I'd let Raoul get the girl?

* * *

_Footfalls echo in the memory  
Down the passage which we did not take  
Towards the door we never opened  
Into the rose garden.  
--T.S. Eliot_

* * *

Mrs. Giry watched as the girl slept, blissfully unaware that she was no longer in Erik's apartment. Since they had no spare room, Nadir had decided to set up the cot in Madeleine's room, and Antoinette had spent the rest of the morning watching over her. Whatever Erik had given her, it had knocked her without causing her body any real damage. Mrs. Giry sighed, pulling the comforter closer to the girl's chin.

"So, he must have really loved you..." She murmured to herself. More than a year living with Christine, and Erik hadn't harmed her. Frightened her, she suspected, but she'd survived in that darkness and somehow helped him live. Otherwise, how could Erik have let her go? The old Erik, the Erik she could not think of without a sense of dread in the back of her mind, would not have allowed _anyone_ to come between him and something he valued. So why was he willing to free her, in the end?

"It's not fair to her, Antoinette." Nadir said as he entered. She turned to greet him, but she was not smiling. He'd known, as soon as he'd brought her home, how displeased she was by his plan. "She's been trapped by him for so long...it was bound to affect her judgement."

"And what will you say to her, Nadir, when she wakes?" Mrs. Giry asked, looking back at the sleeping beauty. "She'll be upset, I think."

Nadir peeked in on Madeleine, who was playing with her stuffed bear quietly, completely unaware of the new form in her room. "She needs to understand everything now," he sighed. "She's in too deep for us to keep this from her."

Mrs. Giry stood and moved to the door. "If he loved her," she stopped, correcting herself, "If he loves her, as I think he does, then he won't ever be the same after what you've done."

"I've given him enough, perhaps even been too lenient as his protector. I have to think about her safety now." He sat in the vacant chair. "I know you don't agree with me, but Christine doesn't know him. How can she possibly love him?"

The sound of the door closing softly was her only response.

* * *

_'Say you'll share with me one love,_

_One lifetime..._

_Lead me, save me, from my solitude..._

_Say you'll want me with you, here, beside you...'_

Christine sighed in her sleep. Was Erik singing to wake her? The sound was so faint, she could barely hear it.

'_Christine, I love you..'_ She heard the musical words anew, and felt as if her heart would forever break. That tone...why was it so despairing?

_'Let's meet again, in Paris...'_ Immedietely her eyes opened and Christine sat up in bed. "Erik!" She was surprised to find herself in a completely different room, his hand no longer at her waist. And...Erik was not here beside her...instead an older man sat by her bed, watching her carefully. It took only a moment of observation to make her remember him as the man who'd entered the apartment.

"Don't be alarmed, Miss Daae. You're in no danger." He spoke slowly, trying not to frighten her. She gripped her blanket and looked around. This soft-colored room was not in Erik's apartment.

"Who are you?" She asked. "And where am I?"

"I'm a policeman, Miss Daae," he assured her, "and you're safe now."

* * *

He sat at the piano, but did not compose. Nothing inspired his hands, so they remained on his lap. With Christine gone, silence had consumed his world once more. If he'd ever considered being rid of her might be a blessing, he knew the truth now. His mind wandered, over and over again, to her face, to her smiles, to the sweetness of her kiss-

When he could not stand it anymore, he backed away from the piano. Instead Erik turned on his stereo and listened to music, trying to block his thoughts and meditate on the sound alone. _Claire du Lune_ whispered throughout the den, and Erik sank back in a chair. He buried his head in his hands, trying to relax into the music, but it was no good. _Chistine...Christine...Christine..._ Her name became a painful chorus, playing over the song.

_She must be awake by now..._, he thought to himself, _and she must be so afriad._ How could she not be? He'd drugged her suddenly, and she'd been carried off by a stranger. _But soon she won't be afraid...she'll hate me._

**_You let her go_**, his darker half growled. **_You made her leave_**.

"Well...," he nearly laughed in bitterness, "now you want her to stay?"

_**She'd agreed. She was going to stay...Christine loved us.**_

"She loved a lie."

_**She belonged with us! We wanted her-**_

"So," he sighed, "you loved her, too." There was no cruel retort, no cackling response. Erik now understood why these conversations with his other self had suddenly stopped. It was all her fault he could no longer endure the kind of life he'd led before. If every day was to be like this, haunted and never whole again, it was because he'd met her in the rain that night. Her wonderful, blind goodness' fault...

* * *

"Where is Erik?" She moved slightly away from Nadir. Looking around, she noticed the crib. "Where is he?"

Nadir did not move towards her or take her hand to comfort her. He knew by her frightened eyes what a bad idea that would be. He sighed as he tried to speak calmly. Erik had certainly not made this easy on him. "Miss Daae, my name is Nadir Kahn. You're in my home with my family."

"But why?"

He sat a little straighter and cleared his throat. Nadir had little experience dealing with victims, and had to choose his words carefully. "Christine, you needed to leave Erik, for your own safety."

"For my safety?" She asked incredulously.

"For your very life, I believe."

"He'd never harm me," she looked at him with a horrified expression.

"Did _he_ tell you that?"

"Yes," she said defensively, jutting her chin slightly out. "He promised he never would."

Nadir shook his head slowly. "Erik...you don't know him as well as you assume you do." He ran a hand through his hair. "No, you don't know him as I do. Not at all."

"I know all I need to know about him," she protested. She looked him clearly in the eyes, and her voice became softer. "Please, take me back to him."

"Why?"

"I...promised I would always be by his side." She felt embarrassed, sure that Erik meant their life together to be as private as possible, but this man had to be reasoned with somehow.

"And why would you make that promise, to Erik of all people?" He would willingly go along with her logic a moment, but he was planning all the while.

"Because I," she swallowed her shyness, "I love him."

"You don't know him, as I've already told you." Nadir stood, pacing a moment. "You've been trapped with him, Miss Daae, and over time you've become attached to your captor."

She watched him, eyes darting from his concerned gaze to his nervous hands. Why? Why was Mr. Kahn so very afraid for her? "Sir, Erik saved me." She smiled a little oddly at the memory. "I was being attacked, and he stopped to help me. He took me into his home-"

"And made you give up yours. Don't forget that part." He noticed her lips tremble a little, and knew he had to continue. "Did you ask to stay in his home? To give up your freedom?"

"No..." the small word crept out of her mouth while she tried to find a reason in her mind.

"Did he frighten you? Threaten, maybe?" He didn't need her to answer, when he saw her eyes close tightly. "Erik is not the good genius you think he is, Christine."

"He was kind to me," she whispered, "he gave me a purpose."

"Do you understand his intent, Miss Daae?" He knelt by her, making sure she was looking into his eyes. "To keep you locked away for the rest of your life, to keep him company in his darkness."

"And I agreed," she answered bravely. "I want to stay by his side, because I can love him no matter what he's done."

"He's murdered, Miss Daae," Nadir answered, cutting through her childish words. "He's done horrible things."

She paled, remembering the night he'd almost done so again. "B-but he won't do it again. He promised me."

"It isn't so simple. You know this, don't you?" His eyes gleamed with emotion. "If someone grows in violence, learns to imitate the act, the impulse cannot be so easily stopped. Nor can the person be so easily forgiven."

"How would you know?" She said her childish words, but they were a failing defense. Nadir shook his head.

"Because I've known him far longer than you have, and waited for him to repent all this time. And in all of this time, I've never been rewarded for that hope. I've been there, Miss Daae,to see the aftermath ofthat trick wire of his." Nadir shivered at the memory. "Those skilled fingers left no one he hated alive."

Christine opened her mouth, but quickly closed it. What could she say? In the back of her mind, Nadir's words rang true. She _was_ afraid he'd hurt someone...just as she feared he could not be saved. "How many?" She asked quietly, feeling a familiar stinging in her eyes. How many lives had Erik taken?

"Three lives by his hand. Four by his birth." He watched her as she brought her hands up to cover her face with empathy. She'd expected more from Erik. They both had.

"Who were they?" She brought her hands down after a pause, and gave Nadir a pleading look. "I need to know."

"Two of his parent's housekeepers. And his father." She nodded her head, but he knew how numb she was feeling.

"And the fourth?"

"His mother." The shock seemed too much for her, and Nadir feared she might even faint for a moment. Then, he pale lips parted and she spoke once more.

"Was...did he ever...grieve?" Even now, she looked for sympathy, for some salvageable part of him to hold fast to. Nadir knew what he had to say.

"Never."

* * *

Erik could not bear to enter her room, but there was something he had to retrieve. In time he was sure Nadir would come back for some of her things, and he had decided to set Christine's violin on the bed for him to find. It woul be easier for both of them if Erik did not have to hold it again.

With a twist of the doorknob, he opened the door and could smell her soft perfume again. It was so painful, and yet he walked so willingly into the room to sense her again. He touched the chair he'd sat in all night when she was sick, nearly remembering her fevered complexion. In the middle of the bed was the violin, and he could feel her wet tears gliding on his fingertips as he'd brushed them away. And then, there was that night she'd taken his hand.

_"I can't..I can't say I understand you." Her hand raised itself slowly. "And I don't know who you really are." Her hand was at the level of his cheek, and she could see the fear in his eyes. "I'm not sure what lies behind the mask." Her tears slowed and she managed a small, sad smile to reassure him. "But I'm going to trust you." She was about to touch his face, when suddenly he winced slightly. First hurt, then understanding set in. Slowly, she dropped her hand to grasp his, and brought it up to her face. "And I want you to trust me in return, someday."_

And then he'd kissed her. He'd never kissed another person before, but instinct had taken over as he'd pressed his lips to her brow. At that moment, just that contact had been enough to make him happy. He'd never even considered touching her lips with his own, as if she might have actually died if he pressed his luck further.

"But she kissed me," he said to no one, fingers at his lips. "She kissed me, and she didn't die." Up until the last moment he'd seen her, she'd been as beautiful as always. His love had not killed her. _Yet_.

* * *

Nadir had watched her crying, and had been unable to comfort her. She seemed to shrink as she held herself tightly and sobbed, trying to disappear somehow. All he could do was stand uncomfortably and watch, to be there in case she wanted to say something. Madeleine only watched the strange girl curiously fom behind the bars of her crib.

"Please," she whispered, "please just leave me." She was in pain, and didn't want this man to see her like this. Erik...had he really deceived her? Was he merely a lie of a man? How could he kill, when he'd been so tender? Her heart broke as her mind turned her questions over and over again. As she thought of Erik, she could not imagine the murderer and the man she loved as the same creature. Had those long fingers that had played so beautifully and touched her cheek so softly been coated in blood all along?

"Will you think on what I've said?" His question earned him a shaky nod of her head, but no more words. He scooped his daughter into his arms and headed to the living room.

* * *

With a groan he sank to his knees, grasping his head with his hands. He knew she had had to leave him. Even if he hadn't harmed her yet, in time she would die because of him. And yet he wanted to run to her, drag her from the detective's home, and lock her away all over again. He wanted to hold her to him once more, only for a moment longer, before parting. That moment would be worth dying for, he knew. And yet, he could not bring himself to do it. For her sake, he could not.

_**I won't be meeting her in Paris someday.**_

He stood, trying to compose himself as he walked to the vanity. He opened the drawer slowly, and pulled the rectangular box out. Stuffing it into his coat pocket without even glancing at it, he walked out of th room quickly, sure he'd never open that door again.

_**I won't see her ever again.**_

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* * *

AN: Thanks Cymbidium, for the editing! And, readers, please let me know what you think...I'm going to need a lot of happy to get over this sadness...


	31. No Compassion Anywhere

AN: Thanks to everyone who's sticking by me on the story. I hope to give you a small reward with this chapter- the story of Erik. I posted this even though I've been having a run of terrible luck lately, in the hopes of casting off whatever bad vibes I had. Wish me luck on that :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but am interested in acquiring the rights to PotO and re-writing it my way...

* * *

Mrs. Giry opened the door slowly, alerting Christine to her presence. She walked in and set the small tray on the bed. "I assumed you would not eat breakfast with us this morning, so I took the liberty of fixing you something." She sat by the bed and took the cup of chamomile tea from the tray and held it out to Christine.

"I'm not very hungry," Christine murmured. Her eyes were red from crying all night, and her voice was tired. She wanted to sleep, and only sleep. Maybe, if she slept forever, the pain she felt would finally die.

The pain the young girl was in was obvious. The fact that the girl was looking straight at her and yet was completely unaware of Mrs. Giry worried her. Whatever Nadir had said to Christine when she'd awoken, it had worked. Now she was bearing the weight of what she thought was the truth. "What has my husband told you about Erik?"

Finally, she received a real response from Christine. Her bottom lip trembled, and she had to look away.

"It's all right to tell me. I've known Erik for a very long time."

"I can't go back." Her admission was quiet, and Christine was not looking at her visitor. Mrs. Giry sat silently for a moment, waiting for the girl to continue, but she had retreated into herself.

"I think, in his own way, he cared," Mrs. Giry commented quietly. She had no idea how to approach the subject of her young friend, especially with the girl on the verge of a breakdown. But if it was this bad for Christine, how was Erik faring? Even though she'd tried to call him, he hadn't picked up...

Christine's arms wrapped around herself, desperate for even a slight sense of comfort. The older woman's words were no comfort to her now. _I...I don't want to know what love is. I don't want any tenderness, either. If it's all betrayal and pain, in the end, it's pointless. Erik...he's done terrible things. And I thought, if I never asked...if I never brought it up...it would never bother our happiness. But it did, because...he might have harmed me. I never knew the danger I was in, not at all._

"Christine...," Mrs. Giry began, but was interrupted by the door opening. She turned and saw Nadir enter, Madeleine in his arms.

"Antoinette, Mado's a bit cranky and I've no idea what to do with her." He ambled over to where his wife sat with the child, giving Mrs. Giry no chance to continue her conversation with her guest. With a little smile towards Christine, Mrs. Giry took the baby from her father.

"Please, eat something. It might do you good." With that, she left the two of them alone. Inwardly she pondered at Nadir's sense of timing, especially when Madeleine didn't look particularly upset. She smiled warmly at her child. "Mado, shall Mama pull out some pieces of the puzzle for Miss Daae to ponder over?"

* * *

"Christine, my wife is right," he sighed as he looked at the untouched meal, "you should eat something."

She shook her head, bringing her knees up to her chest. "I'm just not very hungry."

"I understand, after all you've been through, that you feel unwell." He slowly covered her hand with his own in an attempt to comfort her. "But you must try to live normally again."

"Normally?" Could she even do that now?

"You can go back to school again," he offered. "I'll even find an apartment closer to campus for you."

"Can I...really forget everything?" She looked up, with a little hope in her eyes. "Can I go back to what my life was like?"

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "He isn't going to hurt you anymore. I promise." He squeezed her hand lightly. "From now on, your life is your own again." He saw her tears begin to form and knew the cruelty lying beneath his assurances. _Forget him. Don't ever believe you loved him. He fooled you into his fantasies_.

She knew that he was reaffirming her new understanding of the situation, what he was reaffirming, and it hurt her to admit it. Dumbly she nodded her head, and Nadir stood to leave.

"You have time to make plans, perhaps even decide to leave the city altogether. I will do everything in my power to help you settle into your life again." He gave her a slight look of encouragement. "Your life is your own now, Miss Daae." This earned another grateful, pained nod before he closed the door behind him. He sighed, but felt hopeful for her. She was reacting, coming around to reason...Antoinette would soon see how much better off the girl would be out of Erik's grasp.

He dusted off his hat before putting it on. He looked at his watch and realized how late it had become. "Antoinette, I'm leaving for the office." He called out to her, but he did not quite catch her response from the kitchen. She was irked with him, he knew, but Nadir understood his wife would keep Christine guarded, and would not betray his trust. Her fierce loyalty, after all, was what had made her so charming the first time he'd met her.

* * *

The morning had not fared any better than the previous night. Sleep did not claim him, food did not entice him, but worst of all, music -- his one companion -- failed to inspire him. Time passed so slowly in the room that it was becoming more his coffin than his sanctuary. Erik laid on his bed, looking at nothing in particular, but remembering everything. _She_ had been here not so long ago, her head pressed to his chest, lips curled into a smile. For that moment, they'd been happy, and Erik was able to hand her off to the Daroga without regrets. Then why, seconds later, had he begun to die?

And music...where was his music, to save him? In his head there had always been glorious music, even before he could play. He'd never been left in complete desolation. So long as that muse remained at his side, he could survive anything, so long as the song did not die.

_But no more_, he reminded himself. The music was gone, suddenly wiped from his mind the instant he lost sight of Christine. _Nothing, then...I'm left with nothing_. He smiled ruefully. _What fitting punishment you exact, God. I took everything I could from her, and now everything's been taken from me..._ He shuddered at his complete loss. Is this how he would spend the rest of his days? In this tomb of complete silence, pining for a dream long since lost?

He stood slowly, and headed towards the door. He was determined now...he would not rot away slowly in this hiding place...he would go to where it all began...

* * *

Thelma quietly knocked on inspector Kahn's door before entering with a hot cup of coffee and her notebook. "Good morning, Nadir. I see you're a little late today." She smiled cheerfully as she set the coffee down on his desk.

Nadir took off his coat and hat, giving her a small smile in return. "Yes, I had a little family situation, but it's clearing up nicely." He took the cup of coffee gratefully and took a sip.

"You have one message, so far."

"Already?" He sighed. It seemed it would be a busy day. "Well, let me have it." He was handed a slip of paper.

"The caller said he didn't have to mention his name..."

"It's all right, Thelma, I know who it is." Nadir sat down at his desk and heard Thelma leave. His eyes, however, were on the note.

_Christine's violin is still in her room. Let yourself in and pick it up. It's very precious to her._

Nadir knew what he'd done was right. He knew that Erik had no right to imprison her. Then why did he feel like the villain, just by reading this simple note?

* * *

"Are you quite sure?" asked the young voice over the phone. "Are you sure that Erik Destler, spelled E-R-"

"I'm positive, sir," sighed Margaret. "Your...cousin, Erik Destler, no longer attends our institution. It says he dropped out earlier this semester."

"But the music department still has him listed!" he groaned at the registrar worker.

"That should be changed soon," she corrected.

"So, you can't even give me an address? Even though I'm only in town for a few days?" He rubbed his brow. "I've been meaning to look up my cousin for some time now."

"I'm afraid those records can't be accessed."

"Oh, well, thank you for your assistance." Joseph quickly hung up, then flung the phone across the room. He was so close! So _close! _But no matter, he'd finally seen Erik turn up...he could be patient a while longer...

* * *

By the time Mrs. Giry had returned for the tray, Christine had fallen fast asleep again. She wondered how long the girl would have to sleep before the shock finally wore off. When she picked up the breakfast tray, however, the dishes clattered and Christine opened her eyes.

"Mrs. Kahn?" she murmured, struggling to sit up.

"Please, go back to sleep. I only came to pick up the tray." She felt Christine's hand resting lightly on her arm, and stayed where she was. "What is it, child?"

"You knew him, didn't you?" There was no question as to whom she referred to. Mrs. Giry set the tray aside, and sat by the bed.

"Yes, I've known Erik since he was very young."

"Then, please," her eyes looked up into the older woman's, "tell me _why_ he's done this."

"Why do you need to know, child?"

"Because he'll always haunt me, unless I know." One of her hands smoothed a stray curl from her face. "If I leave now and try to put him behind me, I know I won't be able to. Not until I know."

"So, you've already decided to leave." She knew she shouldn't have been surprised at this, and yet was somehow.

"I have to. I think there's nothing left for me to do, but I can't leave feeling this deceived and hurt by him." She tucked her knees to her chest, cradling her head on them. "It might be best if I leave the city completely. I'm sure, if I ask soon, that Raoul..."

"Can you so easily trade one man's protection for another's?"

Christine's head shot up at those blunt words. Gone was the mothering look of sympathy from Mrs. Giry's face, replaced with a stern one. "Can you really replace Erik so easily?"

"I --"

"I will not lie to you, Christine. For Erik, I doubt there will ever be another love, someone he could exchange you for." Mrs. Giry looked away finally. "No, that's not how Erik is at all."

"Then why all of his death and destruction? His own _father_?" She spoke incredulously. "How can someone like that love? And I...how do I love him?"

Mrs. Giry nodded her head and sighed. "I think you need to know everything about him, before you leave. Erik," she smiled sadly, "deserves that much, because this is a man who was born for death."

* * *

Erik stopped before large wrought-iron gates. He noticed the rust that had begun to form as he removed the large key from his pocket. Slowly he unlocked the gate, and it swung open before him. As if hypnotized, he took steps forward.

_"What are you playing, boy?"_

"A requiem," Erik recalled, as if he were a child again.

_"Not a very mournful sound, is it?"_

"I'm not mourning," he replied, swinging the door off its hinges.

* * *

"Born...for death?" Christine repeated.

"I'll start from the beginning." She clasped her hands together. "Many years ago, there was a wealthy man named Andre Destler, who lived on the outskirts of the city. He was a very respected businessman, appreciated by the whole city, but what he wanted more than anything was the love of a young, beautiful ballerina." She sighed at the memory of the dancer's lovely face. "Her name was Madeleine, and eventually he won her over with his grand gestures and presents. They were married only a month after they'd met and went away to live in his mansion."

"But what about --"

"I'm getting to that," she snapped. Christine had to know the whole story, otherwise there would be no chance of making her see the truth. "Soon after she'd moved in with him, she became pregnant with his child. He was very proud, but worried because of her age. She was only eighteen, you see, and her small build might make birth difficult. As such, he made sure she'd give birth at their home. Everything was set to greet the new arrival into its home...," Mrs. Giry's face fell slightly at her memory. "But things were not to be as happy as they'd hoped."

"You were there, weren't you?" Christine came closer to the older woman. Mrs. Giry nodded her head slowly.

"The night he was born, it was only my husband's presence that let him live. His father, I'm afraid to say, would have smothered the child immediately...because he destroyed their happiness."

"But it was just a child!"

"Christine, he has never been 'just' anything," Mrs. Giry answered with a sardonic smile that disappeared as suddenly as it had come. "My first husband, God rest his soul, brought a child into this world with the voice of an angel...and the face of a devil."

Christine thought a moment on Mrs. Giry's words as the older woman paused. _The voice of an angel?_ She'd only heard one voice like that, but he was not ugly. But then, who else could sing like that? "E-Erik?" She spoke slowly. "Is he-?"

"When he was shown to his parents, that was when that home lost all joy. As ugly as the child's face was, Andre's hatred was far worse. It extended beyond the child, to its mother as well. From that moment on the room he was born in became the child's nursery and prison. Andre would not allow the child to set foot outside of that room."

"And...the mother?"

"Well, she was not so bad a woman as to let the child die. Although she could not find it in herself to love him, she fed him and changed him and spoke softly to the child, as a dutiful mother should...but only in the dark. Madeleine could not stand to look at the face that had destroyed her marriage." A hand raised itself to her brow, and Mrs. Giry rubbed it softly. "Andre -- he believed she'd been false, perhaps had a lover, and that this child was proof of that sin. Even when Madeleine apologized every day for their child, reassured him that she'd been true, he did not wish to recognize the creature she'd born."

Christine felt her heart beat heavily, painfully, then nearly stop at the story. Was _this_ Erik? A child raised in the dark? Oh, God, what a cruel man had fathered him if it was!

"When Andre could finally no longer stand the presence in that locked room, he turned to surgery. My husband pleaded for the boy, said he was too young for such painful reconstructive surgery, but Andre would not listen. He believed that if he fixed the anomaly in the child, that some shred of normalcy might return to their lives." She sighed as if she were about to cry, and looked up to see Christine's tears were already falling. It somehow gave her the strength to keep her voice steady. "Tell me, Christine, do you know how a doctor fixes an malformed arm or leg?"

"N-no."

"In most cases, he usually has to break it, then reset it while the bones heal in the correct shape." She watched Christine's eyes grow wide, and nodded sadly. "This is what had to be done to the right side of Erik's face. And as bone was broken, skin was cut and stretched, leaving him in extreme pain when the anesthetics wore off. Even the pain medication I administered was not enough."

"_You_ administered?"

"Yes," Mrs. Giry admitted, "you see, I became my husband's nurse when I left the ballet. And, after Erik was born, I became his governess." She noted the horror in Christine's eyes. "I could do little to help him, Christine. If I had opposed it, Andre would have brought in other doctors. I _wanted_ Erik to be healed, and so I remained by his side."

"Why weren't you afraid?"

"I was. The powerful rage locked in those crystal eyes was never directed at me, but it was frightening all the same. But my husband was his doctor, and I didn't hate the child at all." She gave another breathless sigh. "He had many operations like this, and each one brought him closer to the son Andre wanted. But still, he was not handsome when..."

"What?" Christine prodded. Now that this door had been opened, she wanted everything to come flooding out. Nothing could be kept from her.

"The heavy burden of that miserable life finally took its toll shortly after the third operation, when Madeleine took her own life, in that dark room with her child."

"Oh, God," Christine whimpered. How could his father --! And his mother... She suddenly remembered Erik's deep sorrow as he'd said that one, simple word...

_'Mother...'_

"The same night Madeleine died, a part of Erik went with her. As did the housekeeper, the maid, and Andre." Her head now rested on her hands. It was painful to recount the happenings of that night, but she had no choice. "It was finally too much for him- no kind word from anyone, no compassion anywhere- Erik snapped that night, his sanity was replaced with the hatred he felt for the servants who'd gossiped about his deformity and made light of his dark existence, and the father who'd subjected him to this kind of life. Clever Erik had learned to pick locks by then, and he used everything he'd learned to kill that night. When the terrified maid called me in the middle of the night, all I could think to do was call Andre's friend Nadir Kahn and rush over."

Christine saw the strong woman turning pale. "What did you see?" she whispered. Her stomach churned, and she felt as though her heart could not bear this truth, but knew she had to.

"A boy in bloodied clothes, taut wire in his hands, looking at me with horror and anger in turns. His face was still so deformed in the moonlight." She shook her head. "He studied me without remorse and asked what he should do in such a faint voice, as if he were fighting himself. He was so willing to put the wire at his own neck, I knew, and I did not want him to." She wiped quickly at her cheek to keep her exterior calm. "Instead I told him to pray for the souls of these sinful people and his own. But, this child only shook his head and said he would never pray again. He put down the wire, and picked up a violin and played until Nadir arrived. He managed to cover it up, in exchange for Erik's promise to live out of the public eye...and to undergo the last surgery." She turned her eyes to Christine now. "The rest you know. The rest is your Erik." Her hands trembled, but found their way into her pocket. She pulled out the scrap of paper she'd held on to for so long, and gave it to Christine. "You're free to leave all of this behind now, as you wished. I only ask that you not stay out of pity. That is the last thing he needs from you."

Quietly she left the room as Christine gasped at the photograph she'd been given. It was the only photograph left of Erik before the surgeries.

* * *

In the darkness he sat, looking at nothing with his vacant eyes. However his mind wandered time and again to thoughts of Christine, to the music she inspired in him. Slowly, he knew, it would kill him.

_In this world full of songs, there's no way I can forget her...I can't help but go mad if I go on living like this...or is it a sin to hold something more important than your life? Should I be condemned for that? _It was horrible to him, that he should want to end things so much like his own mother.

_"Christine..."_

* * *

AN: Yes, things are certainly becoming darker for my characters...and it pains me to do it. But there you have it, the story of Erik's face. So, what shall Christine do? Will Erik do the unthinkable? Will I ever find my lost keys so I don't get fined by my building? Stay tuned to find out!

* * *


	32. All the Sadness of the World

AN: It's my official final exam period in one week, which means my head has to get in the study game and out of the writing one :( Before the madness begins to totally consume my life, I've written this chapter. If you read it, I believe you will not be disappointed. I only ask you leave me lots of reviews to tide me over in this time of academic torture :)

P.S.- I found my keys!

Disclaimer: I own a pair of keys. Honestly, that's about it.

* * *

Chapter 32

_She opened the door to my darkness, and she stood there a moment in that glaring light. I watched her, my eyes adjusting slowly to the light, only to have it quickly shut again. I could hear her erratic breathing in the dark, even though her beautiful little dancer's feet were very quiet._

_"Your mask," she whispered, trying to steady her breathing. For a moment, I'd forgotten it wasn't on. I turned away from the music box I'd been making, and slipped my mask back on._

_"I'm sorry, Mother." I spoke shyly, eyes trying to make out her outline by the dim lamplight at my workbench. "I...made a p-present." I turned back to the box, about to lift the lid. "It's a music-"_

_"Don't." Her voice nearly choked with a sob. Immediately my hand went back to my lap. I sat there, watching her figure and hearing her breaths._

_"Mother...have I made you angry?" I ventured quietly. The other one was always mad, always beating, but not her! Had I finally alienated her, too? _

_'No, no." She sniffed._

_"Th-then why do you cry?" Mother had never cried in front of me, nor had she smiled. In my shadow-room, she had only ever...existed before. Why was she so different now? _

_"Don't question your Mother," she reproached quietly. I nodded my head. _

_"I'm sorry," I said quickly. I felt her eyes on me, another new development. She avoided looking at me when she could before._

_"If-" She cleared her throat, and smoothed her voice a little, "if you turn off your little lamp, I'll let you come to Mother."_

_My heart skipped a beat as I heard her say this. For as long as I could recall, she hadn't touched me, or let me touch her. There was always, always distance between my mother's beauty and me. I did not know what to do, what manner of trick this could be, so I sat dumbstruck. I could do nothing more than watch the shadows shift around where I knew she was. She knelt in the darkness._

_"Turn off your light, Erik." Her hands came out slowly, outstretched to me. "Come hold your mother." In the dim light, I could barely make out the milky white tips of her fingers, but they held no malice. Yearning finally overcame me, and I turned off the light and stood. _

_In the darkness I walked forward, hands slightly outstretched, too. I couldn't hear her erratic breathing over mine anymore as I walked. And gently, so very gently, my hands brushed against the fabric of her sleeves, and her hands found mine. Gently she led me to kneel in front of her, hands still on mine. I could hear her sobbing quietly, but she drew me to her, my head at her shoulder. And I smelled the lavender soap she used, and felt the straight, coal black hair I'd never been allowed to touch before. It made me so happy...to just be held by my own mother!_

_"Mother," I whimpered quietly into her shoulder. I knew she was crying now, and why. "It's all right...it's all right if you don't love me. If you can't..love." And for that moment, I meant it. For that touch, and for that scent, it would have been all right if she'd never loved me at all._

_"Erik," she spoke softly, in between her sobs, "I'd even die for you..."_

_I didn't understand until it was too late, until her wrists had bled her life slowly over me in that shadow prison of mine. My beautiful, broken mother died because I'd touched her. I was the reason she cried in pain._

"Oh, Christine..."

* * *

Was this a face? _Dear God, _Christine thought, _is this Erik?_ The skin was like tissue paper over the right side of his face, exposing veins and the sunken malformed bone of his nose and the protruding of his sharp cheek. He had almost no hair at the crown of his head on that side, only faint wisps of it here and there. She could find no trace of the man she'd lived with in this poor, deformed boy.

_Nothing, but those eyes._ The green eyes in the photographed looked right back at her, making her breath hitch in her throat for a moment. These were not his proud, defiant eyes...but they were still his. _In his eyes, all the sadness in the world..._

Her memory flashed to that night months ago, when he'd held out a blood red flower to her. They were beautiful crystal, deep and hypnotic. Hadn't she loved his gaze, hadn't she felt safe under it? Would she feel the same way if Raoul looked at her? She shook her head quickly. No, Erik's eyes were different somehow, as if they were always watching her. She'd always remember those eyes, that looked only at her with such a burning intensity, as if-

_"Christine, I love you..."_

Her hand covered her mouth, and she trembled. Had she realized everything too late?

"No," she spoke to herself, mind wandering to her task. "Not too late. Not yet."

With a whirl of the blankets she was out of bed.

* * *

He'd returned to the house of his childhood. Condemned and foreboding, he'd unlocked the gates of the past as if this was the only place he could turn to. He'd fallen from the grace he'd known with her by his side. It had been little more than a year, but it was enough to turn this solitude into hell. And he knew this. Erik sighed painfully as he heard the stairs creak heavily as he walked upstairs. He was going to die soon. He was sure of it, and Erik knew exactly where he needed to go to die. He needed to open up that black room one last time, and wait for it there.

_I'm sorry, Christine...I've harmed you, and now I'll harm myself as well. I know both will damage you. _He chuckled only lightly. _Or perhaps I'm making myself too important...perhaps, even to you, it would not matter._

The world suddenly felt colder to Erik than it had ever felt before.

* * *

Nadir opened the door of his home to a peculiar sight. Christine Daae stood in the living room, clothed and groomed to leave. Antoinette stood right by her, baby in her arms.

"Take a right at Delancy, and that should take you to a more familiar route." Mrs. Giry slipped the spare key into Christine's hand. "Take this to let yourself in."

"And what is the meaning of all this?" Nadir closed the door behind him and walked to the women, mouth set in a grim line. He set the violin case down gently in the armchair at his side. "Miss Daae, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to see Erik." She spoke quietly, but matched his gaze with her own. "Don't try to hold me here, Mr. Kahn."

"I thought I'd explained this," Nadir spoke calmly, trying to relax the situation. He had a sneaking suspicion that his wife was behind this somehow. "You're suffering from Stockholm-"

"I don't care what you think I have, sir." She spoke politely, but her face flashed irritation. "I don't care what you think he's done to me, either. I...I know you've tried to help me, and that you were worried about me. But, you don't have to anymore. I'll be fine now. I only ask one thing of you," she took a breath, "don't get in my way." With that, she walked swiftly past Nadir, and was out the door.

"She's in her right mind, you know. A smart girl." Mrs. Giry settled Madeleine in her high chair, then turned to see her husband's pensive face. "If you'd like to go ahead and catch up to her and apologize, I'd be more than happy to keep dinner on the stove a little longer."

"If you're wrong about them-" Nadir began.

"I'm not, and you'd better hurry."

With a swift movement he picked up the violin again and headed out the door after the rash young woman, wondering where his wife got that faith of hers from. He ran, rather pathetically, in his black slacks and tie, calling out to her.

_What am I doing?_

"Christine! Miss Daae!" he called breathlessly. How had he become such a slow runner? Perhaps this desk job truly was affecting him now.

"What is it, Mr. Kahn?" She spoke quietly as she halted in her tracks, and turned to face him warily. Nadir paused for some much needed breath before handing her the violin case.

"He's not at the apartment." She walked to him and took the violin from his hands. "I went by there to pick up the violin for you."

"He's gone?" she asked, worried now. As much as she'd learned about Erik, she didn't have a clue where he'd go now. She ran a hand through her curls. "Where did he go?" Her eyes searched the older man's face. "You know, don't you? You know where he's gone."

Nadir shook his head slowly. "No, even I don't know Erik's mind sometimes. But," he pulled out his car keys, "it's going to rain tonight. I can't have you walk all the way home like this." He motioned slowly, almost apologetically, back to the house. "I'll take you wherever you want to go."

Christine watched him only a moment longer. Even if she was upset for all that had happened, right now her mind was on Erik. "All right."

* * *

Mrs. Giry heard the car as the engine turned, and let a little smile grow. She sat in front of Madeleine, feeding her some strained carrots for dinner. Her hand reached up to pet her child's soft black hair. It reminded her of the same beautiful hair her friend had possessed so long ago. Slowly her mind began to wander to the distant past, to the ballet academy and the dreams she'd shared with Madeleine Auberges.

_Madeleine..._ Her child cooed, bringing Mrs. Giry back to reality. She laughed softly as the baby continued to talk to her mama in garble speech. _Madeleine, protect your child now...watch over Erik now. Let her find him._

* * *

"I'll wait for him at the apartment," Christine spoke to herself, not Nadir, in an attempt to be calm. Something just did not feel right to her, had not felt right since he'd told her that Erik was missing. "Perhaps I could even ask one of the neighbors...maybe someone saw Erik-"

"Christine..." Nadir stopped at a red light, and looked at her, clearly confused, "Erik doesn't have neighbors. No one's there."

"W-what?" She looked at him in surprise. "The apartment building-"

"It's been empty since before Erik began living there. His father owned the property, and so Erik installed himself there after...everything that happened."

"He's...been living there all alone? Since he was a child?" Her mind wandered to the few times she'd left that apartment, when she'd escaped and when she'd been led away by Erik. She had always been in such a hurry that she hadn't stopped to notice...she'd never seen another person, never heard another voice. How could a teen, even as battered and harmed as he'd been, call that a home and not another prison?

"To Erik, that one apartment studio was freedom, compared to what he'd had before. He's never returned to that house again, much preferring this little, isolated happiness. Before he met you," Nadir admitted, "this life was all he needed."

Christine covered her mouth with her hands, and took a few deep breaths. She could not allow herself to break down right now...somewhere, Erik was not well. She understood that much now. Antoinette's words rang in her ears, causing her to panic.

_"I will not lie to you, Christine. For Erik, I doubt there will ever be another love...No, that's not how Erik is at all."_

_Where have you gone, Erik?_ Where was home for this poor man? Where was there safety, any sort of comfort? If not his apartment, where?

"Please, Mr. Kahn," she spoke softly, almost afraid of what she was saying, "take me to the house." She looked up at the gentleman driving her. "I need to go to _that_ room."

With a quick swerve, they took off in the opposite direction. Nadir wondered how Christine, so like his own wife, could believe in Erik. In that moment he felt ashamed at how brittle his own faith was turning out to be.

* * *

_It's raining_, he thought to himself. He could hear the drops and the wind as it picked up from where he sat on the staircase in the unlit house. Sometime halfway up, his heart had given out. He'd been planning on returning to that room, but he couldn't face it, even now. Being inside the house was even too much for him to stomach. He felt weak as he slumped down, head in his hands again.

This had never been his home. The only place he'd ever belonged, he realized, had been the black room. But even that had been tainted by blood. Now, he had nothing, no place to die quietly. There were a few claps of thunder outside, snapping him back to his present task and away from his commiseration. His hand weakly rummaged around his pocket, until he found what he'd been searching for. The thin wire waited for its master's use one last time.

_It's enough, _Erik said to himself. _For a moment, she loved me...that's enough. A moment such as that, _he wiped at a stray tear, _is worth dying for._

"Erik." Her voice cut through all other sound, and caused his heart to twist painfully.

_No, she's not here, she's far away now._ How cruel of his mind, to play this trick on him!

"Erik!" Not only her voice now, but her tiny footsteps, too? As painful as the mistake could be, Erik found himself lifting his eyes in hope. And there she was, soaked in rain and looking for him.

"_Christine.."_ he'd not planned on speaking, but his voice said her name weakly. She turned in the dark house, looking at the shadows.

"Erik, where are you?" Her eyes searched relentlessly, trying to see if any of the shadows in the house were moving towards her.

"_Go away," _he whispered hoarsely, standing now. Soundlessly he walked down towards her. "_Leave this place._"

"Not without you." She turned around, trying to hear where his voice was coming from. She had been so afraid that he'd been hurt that she rushed in without any plan, but here he was, still safe. Her tears of relief began to fall without her noticing. Her hands stretched out, trying to feel her way to him.

"Erik..." A sudden bolt of lightning just outside lit the room for only a moment, but it was enough. She'd seen him standing just in front of her. She moved to him.

"_Don't come any closer._" A threat and a plea at the same time. He was tired of all this...he'd been kind, for once in his life. He'd let her go. Erik felt he could not keep her safe near him again.

"Erik," she sounded hurt by his rejection. "Erik, please...don't go."

"Things can't be built to last if they're not real," Erik said, "Whatever we were, it wasn't real. You gave me everything and I took it. The memories you have of me, what you feel, none of it is true. I stole everything." He heard her take another step towards him. "Just leave."

"If-if I leave," she wept now, her voice breaking, "if I leave you, you'll die. I know that now."

"It was never real, Christine." He feigned strength, even though he felt like he would collapse at any moment. "You can't harm me."

Christine glared ice at him, but came forward and found his hand in the dark. She brought it up to her face, where the tears streamed down. "Isn't this real?" She lowered his hand to her breast, just above her heart. "Isn't this?" She heard no sound from him and looked down, tears trickling down the sleeve of his shirt.

"I...didn't want to be trapped in there with you. I was afraid of you, and what you could do to me. I almost thought I hated you." She knew it was painful for him to hear, but everything needed to come out. "But you gave me music. And from that grew happiness. I was happy, Erik, because you were in my world." She pressed her lips together and prayed for strength.

"Now you've given me one more thing, Erik," she squeezed his hand and took a step closer, "you've returned to me my freedom. I have every right to choose what I want."

Christine could hear his shallow breaths, and closed her eyes. _I missed you. _She cried, pressing her head into his chest. "Please, Erik, let's go home."

Erik had been numb at the moment she'd pressed his hand to her chest and he'd begun to feel her pounding heart. His shock had turned to shame as she'd admitted her fear, only to become numb again as she pressed her ice cold form close to him. He felt her head at his chest, her hand holding his, and couldn't find it in himself to let her go. His free hand wrapped itself around her, and he kissed her hair.

"All right," he choked out. He held her tightly, as if she'd be taken away again if he did not hold fast to her now. "But I won't ever let you go this time, Christine." He meant it – he couldn't imagine doing this again.

She nodded into his shirt.

* * *

AN: Ta-Da! Like it? Love it? Hate it? REVIEW, THEN! It makes me happy, even when studying for my Behavioral Psychology exam (gonna need a LOT of happy to get over this one...) Thanks to the ever fabulous Cymbidium!


	33. This Haunted Face

AN: Merry Christmas, fanfic readers! I hope this little gift is to your liking, and that you'll return the favor by giving me a lil review (please?).

Disclaimer: I own nothing (but will be getting the PotO soundtrack for x-mas!)

* * *

She'd held him for only a moment, arms wrapped around his neck, pressing her cool skin to his. That was when she noticed how hot he was. She wriggled out of the strong grasp and put a hand on his forehead. He was burning hot, but even with his fever he looked so relieved to be touched again.

"Erik," she spoke slowly, choking the tears of her relief back down, "Erik you're feverish."

"I'm all right," he assured her, but to no avail. She could see how tired he was, how his frame shook with every breath.

"How long have you been ill?" Her hands smoothed his hair away from his face as she pressed his forehead to her own. He was definitely in the midst of a high fever. One of her hands went down and caught his. "I have to get you home."

"Christine..."

"We have to get you to bed," she muttered to herself. How had he let himself fall sick so suddenly? It didn't seem like him at all. Again, he whispered her name, and wrapped his arms around her. Christine felt herself fall back with the extra weight, and gave a slight cry when they fell to the floor together.

"Erik, now is not the time for-" she stopped short, realizing he'd actually fainted in her arms. She wriggled out of the hold, and then turned him and laid his head in her lap. He was definitely ill, but he almost seemed to smile at this moment.

"_We're going home now._" She whispered into his ear.

* * *

He'd seen Christine waving her arms to him, making him leave the car. She'd worn both a panicked look in her eyes and relief in her smile. Nadir had approached the girl as she ran out in the rain, fearing the worst.

"Where is Erik?" He'd asked her.

"Inside the house, but he's feverish. I need help getting him in the car." Christine already assumed that Nadir would both help Erik in and drive them home, when Nadir was still very unwilling to trust him. Her hopes were not in vain, however, when the Persian man went ahead of her and lifted Erik's form with a slight grunt of effort.

"Open the side door. We're going to lie him down there." And so they had, but Christine had decided to sit there and use her lap as a pillow. She would not take her eyes from him, and from time to time her hand would smooth through his hair.

"I can take him home, my wife can help him." He looked into the rear view mirror and saw her shake her head.

"He needs some rest, somewhere he feels safe." Christine whispered.

"Christine," Nadir tried to argue.

"Please, after all that's happened," she spoke firmly, "let us go home together."

Nadir paused and sighed in defeat. "If he gets worse, give us a call. He has under speed dial on his cell phone."

Christine gave a small smile. "Thank you."

* * *

He heard vague sounds, and felt something cool covering his brow. Small, warm hands unbuttoned his shirt. He smelled something like medicine in the air. And then he heard her singing, and he instantly felt warmer by the sound. It was a soft, french lullaby he'd heard such a long time ago. His mother had never sung it for him, nor had Mrs. Giry, but he'd heard it in some old radio commercial, and rushed to find the song. Now she was singing it softly to him.

Slowly his eyes opened to meet hers. Her voice never faltered, even as her eyes searched over his face in worry. Her hand picked up a cool cloth, and she pressed it over his forehead. The sensation was wonderfully comforting to him. He reached his hand up to her face, and her song faded away slowly as he covered her lips.

"Christine..." he whispered. It was wonderful to say her name, and to be able to touch her again. She flushed and finally looked away.

"How are you feeling?" She took his hand away from her lips and held it tightly.

"How long have I been asleep?" He was in his own room again, resting comfortable in his bed. She sat on the edge, watching him.

"A whole day," she answered, looking a little sad. "I was beginning to think I should call Mrs. Kahn, when your fever finally broke-"

"It's best you didn't call." He responded with a little irritation in his voice, and squeezed her hand. She understood his actions, but did not want him to remain this upset.

"Erik, they were worried for you."

"I don't care what they thought," He huffed. After the hell he'd gone through, Erik had little sympathy for the detective and his kind accomplice. He saw Christine sigh, and turned his attention to her. "Did you worry?"

Christine looked incredulously into his eyes, then quickly down. "I've been at your side all of this time. Do you even have to ask?" She felt him bring her hand to his chest, just over his heart, and she felt herself grow even redder.

"I do, because I want you to say it." He pressed her hand closer. "Say it." It wasn't an order, but Christine felt so compelled by his words and the sadness in his eyes. She gave a weak smile, trying to quell her nervousness.

"I was worried, Erik." It was true. From the moment she'd realized how she felt, she'd been afraid for him. He'd been the reason she ran out of the Kahn's and prayed to God for help. Christine bent down, placing her head over their joined hands on his chest.

"Christine?"

"I didn't know if you were well, or if you'd disappeared. I was afraid." She admitted quietly, as she felt his chest rise and fall. "For a moment, I lost sight of you, Erik. That worried me...so much."

He was happy, as he wrapped an arm around her and felt her soft breaths against his skin. He was actually happy at this moment. It was more than he'd expected, but he knew that this time, it would be lasting. She would not die if he held her like this tonight.

* * *

"Hello, university offices, Karen speaking." She sighed, typing up some information on her computer.

"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, but I need a little help." The male voice on the other end began to speak sheepishly. "A student at your school recently dropped out, and he's now in the middle of applying for a small position with our symphony. I just needed to verify the classes he was taking prior to this. Would it be too much trouble too...?" He dropped the rest, and Karen gave her tired shoulders a little shrug. It wasn't completely kosher, but this was no longer a student...

"Is it important that you have these records?"

"Extremely. We have many qualified candidates, and I need to verify that he has sufficient musical training to keep up if we select him." He explained calmly. "If mailing is too much trouble, I could do it on the phone. All I need is the past year's courses, and the names of his professors for references." With a small pause, he waited for the woman to take the bait.

"What the student's name?"

"Erik Destler. I believe he mentioned studying with a certain...Professor Firmin?" He feigned a memory lapse, but sat with a pen and pad on his lap. As she gave him course numbers and names he wrote intently. He had a little theory to try out, and information was vital to him. The key to everything would be music, he was sure of it.

* * *

Mrs. Giry had just placed Madeleine to bed when she came into the living room and discovered Nadir deep in thought. _Blaming himself or justifying?_

"Antoinette, I know you're there." He sensed her, the way one could sense a cold winter from the slight ache in the bones. Innate and natural, even though mixed feelings surrounded them. He heard her walk, then saw her sit on the coffee table in front of him.

"Shall I assume I know why you're so thoughtful tonight?" She asked, taking his hands away from his lap and into her own. He merely watched her. "Christine Daae chose him, you know. For better or worse, they're together now."

"I suppose it's out of my hands now." He admitted. "And, if you'd seen the way she looked at him as we drove...she loves him with a kind of blindness I at first found worrisome."

"And now?" She smiled slightly.

"Now, I think it is the only way Erik can be loved. Perhaps that's why I did not understand. Because I can't feel that kind of-"

"He is not your son, Nadir." She spoke quietly, "He never asked that of you. Even when you took him in, he wanted to live alone, to find his heart on his own."

He was surprised at the woman he'd married. He'd never said anything about wanting to be Erik's father, or of feeling that kind of paternal responsibility for the boy, but somehow she'd _felt_ it.

"If I can't replace the memory of Andre for him, what am I-"

"His friend, Nadir." She responded. "He's accepted you, in his own way, as his friend." To this Nadir gave a sad laugh.

"A friend...yes, a friend who couldn't comprehend him, extraordinary as the situation might have been. What good is friendship now?"

Mrs. Giry placed her hands on either side of his face, and kissed his brow sweetly before looking back into his eyes. "Forgiveness. For Erik, that can only exist in true friendship." She watched Nadir return her smile, then leaned in to rest his head on her shoulder. "Go see him. He might still be feverish and in need of your help."

"I love you, you know." He stated matter-of-factly. This earned a light laugh from his wife.

"If you didn't, I wouldn't put up with you." When she heard his deep laugh she settled into his hold. "I love you, too," she admitted shyly.

* * *

They'd remained in each other's arms the whole night, touching to reassure that the other was still there. Though exahusted, neither had been able to sleep. They were, in short, enamoured with the sensual experience of the object of their affection. He could spend the whole night soaking in the scent of Christine's light perfume, or feeling the tickling of her brown curls around his face as she held him. Christine had missed the very rumbling in his chest as he breathed, and could not get enough of the sound now that he was near.

"Why did you come looking for me?" He finally asked the question he needed her to answer. "Exactly how much did Mrs. Giry tell you?" He knew Christine had been told something about his past...otherwise, how had she known to go to the old house? He felt Christine stiffen as he spoke, and paled.

"Erik," she spoke softly, trying not to upset him. Erik instead sat up suddenly, throwing them both off-balance. He turned away from her, on one side of the bed.

"She told you everything, didn't she?" He spoke in a fierce whisper, the shame clearly written on his features if she had only been able to see it.

"I...was told everything I needed to know, but not by the person I needed to hear it from." She spoke softly, and reached her hand to his shoulder. "It's thanks to her that I came back, Erik."

"You mean it's thanks to Mrs. Giry that you had enough pity to return." Again, he was back to blocking her, so very wary of her affection. He shrugged her hand away from his shoulder. She knew what he really was now. Why else would she want to see him again? "Do you want to look into my face and try to find the monster hidden under the skin?" He spoke with such bitterness, since it was easier to be angry than to show his fear.

He heard her move, and felt the shift of weight on his bed. He expected her to feel hurt or cry, perhaps even leave him alone in his room. What he did not expect was for her to stand before him, eyes blazing, or to feel the sting of her palm against his cheek. The sound seemed to echo in his ears, and he brought a hand to his injured cheek. She merely stared at him, unafraid of retribution.

"Erik Destler! I have had enough of your attempts at distance." She shook her head in her anger, and Erik could only stare at this woman. "Always secretive, never allowing yourself to feel or be healed- all because of your face! You would blame me," she scoffed, "you would push me away for trying to make sense of you? Well, I won't stand for it." Her anger was dissipating quickly, leaving her shaking. Her hand moved to his face, tracing the hairline. "This haunted face holds no horror..."

"Stop." It was the only word he could force through his lips as he looked at her, but he meant it. She shook her head again.

"Only if you don't love me...only then," she whispered. "I can't leave you alone otherwise." Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor in front of him. "Can't you see that's why I won't stop?" She buried her face in her hands, trying to keep composure. Couldn't he understand her love at all?

She felt his arms encircling her, the hot breath against her neck. He was so afraid, so unsure, and it showed in his touch. "Christine..."

"Erik, I love you," her hands found their way around him, too. She raised her head and pressed her lips to his light scar. "Don't be afraid of me anymore."

He nestled her close, the slap completely forgotten. Who was she, to be able to stand up to the doubts that had been eating at him for years? Even though he'd tried to push her away once more, she'd fought back and held on. And now, he felt a painful love for her, a promise of the growth that might happen in the time they shared to come.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

AN: This definitely made me happy. Let me know if you have an opinion, be it good or bad. And happy holidays, my diehard readers! 


	34. Let the Dream Begin

AN: Happy New Year's Day, guys! I hope this next chapter's to your liking, since I ventured outside my normal style this time. Reward me with a review? (Puppy dog eyes?)

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Chapter 34 

The names were flowing script, taking up pads of legal paper. On his desk he looked them over as he typed up the names. _Constance Peterson. Meaghan Borges._ He didn't cross out the male names, but wasn't bothering to type those into his spreadsheet just yet. _Angela Bryce. Carlotta Piangi._

All these names were linked to Erik Destler. They were all in his classes in the past semester, had musical backgrounds. More importantly, they were all women. _Caroline Shih. Alicia Torres. Samantha Woods._ He stopped typing for a moment, and rubbed his tire eyes. He picked up a legal pad with his free hand, and felt for the clipping he'd hidden there.

There was a theory to be tested now, a little puzzle to be solved before he could find Erik Destler. He was very glad to know his own aptitude at puzzles. This one, he assured himself, could be cracked. And one of the girls on this list would hold the key. _Marcia Brown. Annie Shreeve. Christine Daae._

One of them had the answer he was desperately after. With a sigh, he returned to his typing. _Lucy Connor. Linda Donovan._

_

* * *

_

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He felt her smile against his skin, then pull away slightly. She looked at him with nothing but innocent adoration. "I love you." Those words were redemption and trust, not merely affection. The meaning had never been innate, but Erik had finally begun to understand that a little now. Christine was teaching him more than either of them had realized.

_I'm sorry. I love you._ Simple words, but once Erik uttered them everything felt changed. After she'd forgiven him, kissed his injured cheek without fear, Erik felt something slowly leaving him. And as far back and as he could remember, the dread he felt in his muddied heart was always there, making its presence known. Loss was a pain he'd learned to live with, as was loneliness, but as he held her close and pressed his lips softly to her collarbone, none of that darkness could be felt. He wasn't afraid of her as he nipped at the soft skin of her throat, as he made his desire known. He just wanted her to understand, once and for all. He loved all of her, and Christine needed to know that now that they'd been reunited.

And to his amazement, she didn't push him away as he'd always feared. Instead, she seemed to melt away into his touch and she gave a little sigh as he ran his fingers across the side of her face and through her hair. Her responsiveness made him bolder, less nervous of her rejection than of what wonderful moment they might miss if he pulled away now.

Christine felt her heart and it seemed to beat painfully out of her chest when she felt the feathery caress of his lips on her skin. There was a terrible longing within that tenderness, she was certain of it, but there was more to his affection than loneliness. There was love, and hope for some kind of miracle to pass over them at this moment. She felt this clearly, because it was her own hope and as well.

She brought her hands to rest around his shoulder blades. _Dear God,_ she prayed and as he picked her up and set her on his bed, _God, please let me stay with him._ He hovered only inches from her face, his eyes searching her own. Though he was not afraid of her, he was timidly seeking an answer to his unasked question. With a small smile she reached out a hand to cup his cheek gently. He took it as encouragement, and bent down to kiss her. She closed her eyes and felt one of his hands searching for her free one. He laced his fingers through it and held it.

_Dear God, let me be his light. Let me set him free..._

Thoughts drifted away as the kiss deepened, and all she could sense was Erik. She smelled the soft cologne still hanging on his clothes, and felt the muscles of his arms. And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she heard him calling her name with dulcet tones, as if a harsh one could shatter her. She held him close, blushing at her boldness, but knew that he needed to understand it was all right, that she wanted this love.

"_Erik_," she whispered in a tone that nearly broke his heart. Their noses touched, and as she looked up at him, Christine nodded her head slowly. "_Let me be with you."_

"_Oh, Christine..._" He was relieved, she knew, and in love. From now on, she knew this would not be his room, locked away and inaccessible. The barrier between them was coming down as she felt herself -- her only self -- break with love for him.

Words failed them both at this moment. It was a new music they were creating together, new to them but ancient as man. It was a wordless melody setting aflame parts of their soul that they'd never known to exist before, and now only existed for each other. She felt secure at this moment, fingers still laced in his and as they played this sacred song together, and Erik felt everything he'd never even realized he missed. For those feelings, all of him, breath and body and soul, were for her.

And as the tune waned and wafted into the silence of their sleep, he held her close to him and touched his lips to hers once more. The music of the night had never been so alive in him before, as he drifted off and let the dream begin...

* * *

"That's odd," Nadir remarked, hanging up the receiver of their phone. Antoinette looked up from her dishes and gave him a curious look. 

"What is it, Nadir?"

"I've been transferred to Erik's voicemail all night tonight. I'm wondering if anything is wrong over at his apartment." He really was very puzzled. Erik never had his phone turned off, much less missed _his_ calls! He was about to ask his wife's opinion when he realized she was looking at him with a very amused expression on her face. "Antoinette, do you know why his phone is off?" The wily woman he knew and loved was very astute, he'd recently discovered, and he worried there might be more than he knew about Erik's behavior. His suspicion, however, only made her shake her head, mirth still intact.

"No, no," she reassured him and as she wiped her hands with a towel. "I know as much as you do...but I have an inkling." Her little smile seemed to be growing more smug at his clueless expression.

"An _inkling_?" He repeated her words stupidly, trying to figure out what she meant. "What could Erik possibly be doing that would make him want to turn his phone off?"

At this Mrs. Giry blushed, a very rare thing for her to do. "Oh, really, Nadir. And you call yourself a detective," she scolded sweetly. And at this Nadir's eyes widened considerably, and the color rose to his own cheeks. With a little start he turned away.

"Well, then, I'm sure he's completely recovered..." He cleared his throat a little too loudly, and lowered his eyes. "I'll be reading in the den." His schoolboyish behavior elicited a giggle from Mrs. Giry. It was very rare for Nadir to lose his composure and blush, and she greatly enjoyed watching him when it did.

* * *

She didn't know how long she'd slept, but Erik was still by her side when she opened her eyes. One arm supplying her a pillow, and the other cradling her close, he still managed to make her feel precious even as he slept. Her hands were wrapped around his shoulders, holding him fast. She stretched a little, but stopped as the slight ache under her belly awakened. She winced a little, but her smile never faltered. 

Her hands stroked his soft black hair, then lightly touched his features. _Is this,_ she laughed softly to herself, _what lovers do?_ Her hands reached down to trace his shoulders at the blades, then felt the sharp ridges just below. His smooth skin felt marred there, and her fingers brushed over it time and again trying to feel the entire length of this mark. She was so interested that she didn't see Erik staring at her.

"It's a scar, Christine." He startled her, and looked deeply into her eyes when he had her attention. "How are you feeling?"

She smiled lightly. "I'm fine, really. Just a little sore." Her smile faded, though, as she pressed her hand to his shoulder once more. "Erik, why do you have a scar here?" He looked away as he usually did, but Christine would not allow it. Her other hand cupped his cheek, making him meet her gaze. "Erik?"

"It's a reminder of my past. My father --" He couldn't continue any longer. He finally broke eye contact. "Please don't ask anymore, Christine." Though he loved her, and though his heart was beating now for her, the memories of those terrible moments with his father were horrible to dredge up.

At his saddened expression, she could not deny his request. With a slight whimper from the small pain, Christine sat up, wrapping a sheet around herself. "All right, I won't ask." Instead she pressed down on his shoulder suddenly, making him lose his balance. He fell face down on the bed, exposing his back to her.

She gasped, looking at the dark scar that began at the bottom of his left shoulder blade and ended nearly at his waist. Unlike the nearly invisible white scar by his hairline this one was tanned, nearly brown in contrast to his pale skin. This one had been inflicted violently, not surgically, and left to heal on its own, or by a child's crude care. Knowing how he'd hurt then, Christine's heart ached now.

"A belt," he whispered hoarsely. "Please don't look." She knew the embarrassment behind those words very well, and she immediately touched her own throat. It hadn't been so long ago that she had been this afraid to let him see. It hadn't been so very long ago that she'd been afraid that he might turn away, and knowing this made her ache more than any physical pain could.

She bent over gently, and pressed a soft kiss upon the mark. Then another, and another. Her lips touched the mark without hesitation, making him gasp. Her fingers traveled its length in a caress, and he called her name softly.

"I can't be afraid of what I love," she whispered as she rested her head between his shoulder blades. "Not of your past, and certainly not of your body."

He turned so that she was now settled on his chest, and looked at her. "How is it you...?" He was silenced with a kiss, which she hoped would answer everything.

_You...just you...one by one, you wash away all of my mud covered anxieties._ Erik understood her answer, and as they came together again, felt things he'd never even dreamed for her. All of it was love.

* * *

"The first three hours of night were almost spent  
The time that every star shines down on us  
When Love appeared to me so suddenly  
That I still shudder at the memory.  
Joyous Love seemed to me, the while he held  
My heart within his hands, and in his arms  
My lady lay asleep wrapped in a veil.  
He woke her then and trembling and obedient  
She ate that burning heart out of his hand;  
Weeping I saw him then depart from me."  
--Dante

* * *

AN: Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks to my wonderful editor, Cymbidium, for all of her patience and help, and to the diehard readers who are sticking with me to the end. I really appreciate it! 


	35. We Have a Guest

AN: Did you really think the story was over? Not quite yet...things must come to fruittion before I'll let this one go. I've just been overwhelmed by life in general, and didn't have time to write. Please, leave me a review after you read this, and I promise it'll cheer me up!

Disclaimer: If I owned PotO, I would NOT have student loans...

* * *

Chapter 35

It was some time later, while in the middle of some paperwork, that Nadir received a call in his office. Thelma's shrill voice interrupted his work.

"Mr. Kahn, there's a guy named Erik holding on line one for you. Do you want me to send him to the machine?" The answering machine that the station had installed for him was a godsend. If not for Thelma and the machine, he'd get no work done during the day. This time, however, Nadir was more than willing to take the call. He punched in the code and was connected to Erik in an instant.

"Erik?"

"Hello, Daroga." His voice wasn't weakened by illness, nor was it enraged, as he'd expected.

Nadir rubbed a hand over his brow. "Hello," was all that Nadir could muster. He felt guilt dry up and destroy any other words he might have said to the boy, and for a moment neither said anything. The pause was cut short however, when he heard a girl's voice in the background chiding Erik. With a sigh, the boy resumed their awkward conversation.

"How is your wife?"

Nadir overheard an infuriated groan, definitely not male, and smiled a little. "Same as always. Hard to keep up with, full of life."

"I see." Nothing was said again until an annoyed voice traveled to his ear.

"_Erik! Just ask already!" _That voice had to be Christine's. Again, Nadir heard Erik's sigh.

"Nadir, we were just curious...do you and...your wife have dinner plans tonight?" His question was met with more than a little shock from the detective. Was Erik...asking them to dinner? The notion seemed preposterous, but what other reason would he have to ask such a question?

"No, we don't."

"Then...would you be interested in coming over tonight?" Again, nervous words that surprised Nadir. Before he regained complete control of his senses, Erik spoke up once more. "It would give us a chance to talk."

"It–," he cleared is throat. "It sounds fine. Only, Madeleine–"

"Oh, bring her, please." Again, the girl's voice piped in. Was Erik talking to him on speakerphone? It would explain how he could hear both of them so well. Apparently in their time alone together, Christine had enjoyed Madeleine's company. Well, if neither objected to his daughter's presence, why should he?

"All right, then. I'll call Antoinette and let her know. Would you like us to bring anything?"

"No, we'll take care of everything. Just come around at 7:30." With that, Erik hung up and left the detective very pensive, and very thankful to Christine Daae at that moment.

* * *

Christine had nearly given up on the plan when she heard the uncomfortable silences the men were allowing themselves, but stepped in just in time. A month had passed since they'd last spoken to the Kahn family, a month in which the new couple had been spending every waking moment together.

Things had changed with a speed that nearly frightened Christine into believing it all to be a dream, but Erik kept assuring her it wasn't. He assured her when he held her tenderly before drifting off to sleep, and when he asked her to take a walk with him in the park. And, as he'd promised, she hadn't woken up to a harsh reality.

"I can't believe you were so uncomfortable, Erik!" She chided as she gingerly piled up the books that were lying about the den. Even if they had slacked in their housekeeping, she was going to make sure everything looked presentable before dinner tonight. It had been her idea, after all, to have them over.

Behind her Erik grunted quietly. "Well, it's not all water under the bridge."

To this Christine gave a little sigh, and placed another book on top of the pile she'd built up on the coffee table. "Really now. He may be like a godfather to you, but he's allowed some mistakes." She gave a little smile. "Everything turned out all right, didn't it?"

Erik's hands stretched out on either side of her and took her hands off of the books. He lifted them to his mouth, and she shivered as she felt his warm breath brush over them. He smiled, feeling her reaction. It made her happy, the fact that he was smiling so often now.

"Yes, I suppose it did." He kissed the insides of the palms gently before letting her go.

"Where are you off to?" she asked with a little disappointment in her voice.

"Well, if we're going to have dinner tonight, I assume food is necessary." He picked up the keys from their hanger. "Do you want anything in particular from the store?"

"You're the master chef," she laughed, picking up her pile. "You can decide, I think. But...are peaches in season?" She bit her lip thoughtfully. "I have no idea why, but I've been craving some. I could also fix a cobbler for dessert."

"All right, I'll make sure to bring some home."

"Don't bother if they're too expensive or not ripe," she added quickly, making him smirk. She was still the thrifty, shy girl he'd first encountered so long ago.

"I'll be right back." He unlocked the door and headed off, ignoring her request.

* * *

"Dinner?" Mrs. Giry's voice reflected little of her surprise over the phone. Was her husband going to take them out to dinner? "Well, I haven't begun to fix anything, Nadir. Why do you ask?"

"Erik's invited us to dinner at his apartment." His words sent shock through her.

_Christine Daae's influence,_ she thought to herself. "Well, I think I can manage to get Mado ready in time."

"Then I'll pick you both up when I get home."

"Do I detect the sound of relief in your voice?" She smiled at his silence. _Men_.

"I'll pick you up at seven, then." With that, Nadir hung up and sighed. _Women._

* * *

Carlotta was in a huff. Again, her name had been passed over for an honors music seminar, and why? Because the professor was too stupid to see the talent she had, or perhaps had been too threatened by it. She was Carlotta Piangi, daughter of a prominent family and the leading lady in every one of the drama club's musicals since she'd begun to study at the college!

_The nerve of that disgruntled idiot! _She fumed as she rounded a corner. She was on her way right now to file a complaint with the school against the professor's obviously biased choices, when she bumped into another person. With a little cry she lost her balance and would have fallen if a pair of strong arms hadn't helped her.

"How dare–" She looked up, ready to screech, and met dazzling blue eyes. They looked so very concerned for her.

"I-I'm so sorry," the boy said, picking up a folder she'd dropped. "Are you all right, Miss?"

"Fine. Just fine." She blushed and took her folder from him. "Thank you." With that, she would have been more than happy to walk past him but he spoke to her again.

"I know this might sound rude, but...are you Carlotta Piangi?" She turned at the mention of her name, and saw him grinning a little bashfully.

"Yes, I am."

"Oh, I just...," he ran a hand through his brown hair. "I've been a fan since I heard you in the last musical. You were perfect."

And just like that, Carlotta was putty in his hands.

* * *

Seven o'clock rolled around faster than Erik and Christine expected. They were both still in the kitchen, Erik stirring the soup and Christine fussing over the mess she'd made while fixing the cobbler. Her hair and face still retained smudges of flour and she needed to change her clothes, but it would all be worth it if the pie turned out as she hoped. As she cleaned her mess, she swore she heard Erik chuckle to himself, a sound even she was not quite used to.

"And what, may I ask, is so funny?" She turned around and placed her floury hands on her hips in a threatening manner. Erik simply shook his head and reached a hand out to trace her cheek, then pulled it back to show her the chalky residue.

"This." Erik wondered if she'd even noticed the war paint she'd donned on mid-baking, but he'd certainly found it amusing. Christine's mock anger dissipated into a small laugh at her own expense. Taking a look at his watch, his smile faltered. "If you want to clean up before they arrive, I suggest you do it quickly."

Christine sighed and removed her apron. "I'll be ready before they arrive. After all, if I leave you to greet them, you might spend the better part of the ten minutes I'd be running late just glowering at Nadir."

"You know me," he replied to the retreating figure. Finally he turned the heat off and took the soup off the stove. He walked back out to the dinner table, with its crisp linen and place settings, and felt a little dread.

Christine had pushed the idea on him bit by bit, first as a passing comment and later as a near-forced suggestion. She found it necessary, and he had to agree, but that didn't mean he felt comfortable inviting the detective into his home again. He wasn't very worried about Antoinette, but Nadir, with his good eye, was likely to scrutinize their relationship and comment on it to Christine. Both of his hands ran through his hair as he tried to push past these worries.

"Your face gives you away, you know." Christine's voice cut through his thoughts, and Erik turned to take an appreciative look at her. Her long hair was neatly placed in a bun, wisps of curls hanging to frame her face. She wore a black a-line skirt and a ruffled white blouse, simple, but extremely elegant. She looked up at him, smiling, and it was nearly his undoing.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He smiled lightly and fidgeted with his own neat clothes. He'd decided on a simple black collared shirt and slacks, but he felt it was just right.

"You're nervous," she spoke bluntly, but her tone was soft. "You shouldn't be."

The sound of knocking at the door made Erik look up to her.

"I think, my dear, we have a guest." He smiled ruefully.

* * *

The Kahn family had entered quietly, one as anxious as Erik, one trying to be as pleasant as Christine, and one with wide eyes. Antoinette had been thoughtful and brought a portable chair for her little daughter, who was still not big enough to sit on a chair. Quietly Antoinette adjusted the pretty lilac frock the baby wore before seating her, then looked at the two men with a little wince.

They were merely staring. Neither of them said a word, but took their places beside their companions. Christine gave Mrs. Kahn an encouraging smile, and Antoinette decided that enough was enough.

"Antoinette, your daughter's so beautiful!" Christine moved slightly away from Erik to coo at the little girl, who smiled prettily in return. Antoinette took the cue and moved as well. "Does she eat solids yet?"

"Oh, yes. She loves sweets above everything, though. Her father's indulgence I assure you." She gave a little laugh, hoping to ease the tension. She looked at Christine as her face brightened.

"Oh, well that's lucky! I'm making a cobbler."

"She'll be sure to enjoy that. But...cobblers are tricky. Do you need a hand?" Antoinette smiled slyly, glancing over at the silent men.

"Thank you so much!" Christine stifled a slight giggle at their impromptu covert act. Together they walked away into the kitchen, leaving Erik, Nadir, and Madeleine in the dining room.

* * *

Erik looked at the situation with an annoyed eye. Two men and a baby. Two awkward men and a baby. Two awkward, silent men and a baby. If they were going to get through dinner tonight, this ridiculous behavior had to stop. As much as he hated to admit it, Nadir actually mattered to him, and keeping silent forever wasn't going to right anything.

"Antoinette's been hoping to see you." Nadir's words nearly startled Erik. He looked at the detective as he shifted his hands in his pockets, and somehow he understood what the man really meant to say.

_I've been hoping to see you._

"Well, she didn't have to worry. I'm quite fine."

"With Christine watching over you, you mean." There was no malice in the tone, but it made Erik wince a little inside. Was he still so disapproving?

"Yes," Erik admitted, "I needed her." He sighed. "I still need her."

Neither of them mentioned that this was the first time he'd admitted needing anyone.

"Dinner was her idea, wasn't it?" Nadir assumed with the ghost of a smirk playing on his face. Erik frowned slightly. "I never thought you'd be the type to humor her."

"I wanted to do this, too." He looked straight at Nadir, refusing to feel uncomfortable now. "I had to show you I'm not afraid."

"I don't mean to separate you two. Not anymore. She chose _you_." He took a hand out of his pocket and waved it. "I don't know what you think I wanted to do here tonight, but it's not that."

"And that night?"

"I had to make _her_ choose. I had to take everything away and make her think. And if that meant hurting you..." He sounded pitiful, frustrated and sad. "It wasn't wrong of me."

Erik watched him a moment longer before speaking. His friend looked older, tired by this struggle between them.

"I know," he said simply. When he saw the surprise on Nadir's face, Erik gave a little half-smile in an attempt at reassurance.

"She's a good girl. Treat her well, Erik," Nadir advised, feeling somehow indebted to her all of a sudden.

"I will." He looked up at Nadir earnestly. "For as long as she'll have me."

Nothing more needed to be said between them. They'd made their peace.

* * *

Dinner was pleasant, if only slightly quiet. Madeleine had Christine's attention lavished upon her, which pleased the little girl greatly, and Antoinette and Erik spoke of the past few months. Nadir joined in when he could, but for the most part observed the party with a small smile.

The cobbler, though it had been tended to by two cooks, turned out to be inedible. Christine blushed furiously when she realized she had over sweetened the mix, and Erik had to press a finger to his lips to keep a slight chuckle from erupting.

"Well, there's a little ice cream shop a few blocks away," she offered. "I could pick some up for dessert." The older couple shared a nervous look as she suggested this. Christine? Go outside?

"Well, that sounds fine. But it is dark out. Would you like me to go with you?" Erik said quietly.

"No, this is your home and you can't leave guests unattended." She turned to look at Nadir, who was holding Madeleine. "If you're worried, though, I'm sure Nadir and Madeleine wouldn't mind a short walk."

A little nudge from his wife assured him that he, in fact, wouldn't mind. He stood with Madeleine in his arms and decided to accompany Christine, leaving his wife with Erik.

* * *

"I'm glad you an Nadir seemed to have sorted everything out."

"It seems so." He glanced at her face and sighed. "You don't have to look so apologetic."

Mrs. Giry paused in surprise, then quickly turned her gaze to her hands on her lap. "I let many things happen to you, Erik. It wasn't only this." How many painful things had fallen on him! And how many times had she been unable to help?

Her mind reeled with memories, and she closed her eyes. Was she going to let herself cry about her own weakness?

"Let's not talk about this." It all hurt. Her guilt, and the past. He didn't know if he was strong enough to think of it without Christine by his side. Still, he felt rather than heard her sorrow. He knew she was crying.

"Erik," Mrs. Giry cried quietly, "I watched you as a spectator to some cruel sport. I failed you, because I felt it was not my place to do anything. I helped to force your hand." She looked up to see him watching her with interest. She wiped at her eyes with one hand. "Forgive me. Even now, I can't say I would be different from Claudine if I'd been you mother instead. I can't ever really know." She fell silent in her shameful revelation. Her curse, her friend, stared on.

"I wish..." Erik began, trying to find the right words, "If you'd been my mother, I would have known all the tenderness in the world." He lifted a hand and wiped at the fresh tears kindly. "I know so." He offered a weak smile. "But the tenderness I have now...that's more than enough." It wasn't just Christine he was speaking of, and she knew it. He was speaking about all of them.

He'd said it so simply, and then left her eased of her guilt. When had he become so kind? What great awakening had that girl caused? Whatever had happened between them, Erik was changing.

With that knowledge, just as suddenly as her tears had begun they ended. She smiled as she took a look at him. "Be happy." She whispered.

The front door opened, and Nadir, Christine, and Mado emerged with the dessert. Erik gave Mrs. Giry only one little nod before resuming their little party but it was enough. She felt relief wash over her.

* * *

AN: Things look good, but who is that man in the shadows...? Trust me on this, and keep tunedin tothis fic. And leaving a review would really, really help (hint hint).


	36. Say You Love Me

AN: Sorry for the delay, diehard phans! Life threw me a few curveballs and I had to swing at them before I could come back to the story! I hope you'll all enjoy it and leave a review to encourage me to update FAST, because now the story's going to be picking up speed (grin).

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing...yet another of life's trials...

* * *

After the night had been spent, and a little sleep had been regained, Christine sat up in bed, watching him. Then slowly, and with her thumb and index finger, grasped the silver band she always wore and played with it. Erik was still asleep next to her, murmuring her name now and then.

_This is nice._

Satisfied, she lifted herself out of bed and headed to the adjoining bathroom. After everything was said and done, she was in dire need of a warm bath to relax her muscles. She watched him only a moment longer as he shifted and sighed only once, then opened the door to the bath.

For a moment she was miffed that he hadn't given her this room instead. The bedroom was larger than hers, but this bath was absolutely beautiful. It was all a creamy marble with gold accents here and there. The towels were all the color of a rich merlot, right next to a small shower cubicle. But best of all, Christine saw the biggest bathtub she'd ever seen. It was large, with small steps from the floor to the rim and salts and soaps that Erik had stocked for her. She wondered if he ever actually used this bath before she'd begun to. In her mind, it seemed unlikely.

She ran the bath and dropped in some soft smelling soap before picking up some fluffy towels from the little closet. After wrapping a towel around herself, she sat on the side of the bath, swishing her legs in the warm water. Absentmindedly she ran a finger over the small band on her left ring finger. She felt comforted by the ring. After all, she'd been carrying it with her for a few years now...

"Christine?" Erik's voice got her attention, and she turned to see him with a sheet wrapped around his midsection. She smiled and looked back to the filling bath.

"I was just going to take a bath. I always marvel at it, Erik." She was considering unwrapping her towel and settling amidst the bubbles when she felt him move just behind her. One of his arms brushed her naked shoulder, sending thrills along her spine, and came to rest before her eyes. The little silver band glinted at her as he held her hand.

"You've never explained this ring to me." He spoke softly in her ear. With a little pull she fell gracefully into the frothy water. He released her hand and she turned to look at him, now modestly veiled from his eyes.

"I've never felt the need to." She smiled, then completely submerged herself underwater. Her actions were rewarded when, not long after, she heard a soft splash behind her. Needing air, her head and shoulders emerged again and she took a breath. His arms pulled her to his chest, and held her tightly there.

"Even if I asked?" He lifted her hand into view. She let her head tilt back to rest on his chest, but kept her eyes on the ring.

"Then I couldn't refuse," she smiled lightly, still looking at the band. "You have nothing to be jealous of, though." She felt his other hand massaging her scalp with soft, circular motions, and nearly closed her eyes in delight.

"Was it a present?" He didn't want to ask the whole question. _Was it a present from Raoul? _He didn't understand why, even now, he felt the boy was still a small threat to him.

"From my father." She answered as if she could read his thoughts. He felt a pang of guilt for his question, but only continued to hold her, hoping she'd elaborate. "Before he died, on my birthday, he gave it to me in exchange for a promise. I won't remove it until I'm ready to."

"A promise?" Erik felt her stiffen a little in his hold, and traced her arm with a warm, soapy hand. "If it pains you to tell me-"

"These are happy memories, Erik," she insisted. "It's good to remember them." She knew he didn't quite understand the concept, but continued. "Like the memories you'll have of the time we spend together. I'd never want you to forget them." She gasped slightly as she felt his hands, warm and soft, come up to trace her features. They ran like water over her.

"I can't," he murmured into her hair. His hands were gentle as they grazed her eyes, cheeks, and lips. "I'll remember everything, every little detail about you. I promise." As if to prove it he bent his head to her shoulder and kissed it.

"And we won't ever be parted again." She sighed at the heat of his lips on her skin. "We'll always be together." Christine inhaled deeply, and smiled. Erik held her tightly.

_As long as there's breath in my body,_ Erik smiled.

* * *

How lucky he was! He'd not even gone through half of the original list and already clues were appearing right in front of him.

_Thanks to the lovely Carlotta,_ he reminded himself. He ran a comb through his well-kept hair, looking at his reflection carefully. If he was going to take the school's diva on a day out, he had to look presentable. It was taking time, but he was a patient man. He could hardly expect her to prattle on about the one subject he was seeing her for. This kind of thing required finesse. And he'd decided it would be worth it when he'd purposely run into the girl at her school. She was pretty, he thought, but artificially so. Painted mouth and dyed red hair and, after a moment of closer observation, colored contact lenses. Not his type of girl, but he wouldn't be picky at the moment. He needed the diva to spill her secrets.

They'd shared a cup of coffee, talked for hours about her, and that was how he'd gained her trust. She gained his interest with one sentence.

_"And there was this boy in my theory class, Erik, who was totally smitten with me..."_

He'd smiled to himself then, a hidden smile but triumphant just the same. Now he arranged his coat over his dress shirt and headed out the door. Carlotta didn't like to be kept waiting.

* * *

Erik left the apartment early, telling Christine that he was off to visit Nadir at his home. But instead of going towards the Khan household, he steered his car towards the downtown shopping center. He parked, and took a walk down the streets filled with small, unique shops. What he was looking for required time and patience and deep thought, but he felt compelled suddenly to go off in search of it. Christine needed to know how much he loved her.

At the little flower shop he'd frequented for roses, he saw the kindly old woman who ran the store watering a row of ferns. The woman looked up from her work and smiled. He actually found himself sheepishly smiling back.

"Come for more flowers, sir?" She set down her watering can and smoothed her hands over her apron. "The blood red _rosa gigantea_ have exceptionally rich scent. I'd recommend them more as a bouquet than as a single, though."

"The flowers are wonderful, I'm sure, but that's not what I'm looking for today." He stood just outside the shop, looking around hopelessly. The shopkeeper seemed to notice his distress, because she smiled kindly.

"Well, do you need a little help finding it?"

Erik looked almost startled at her. She was being very friendly, although she had been before, but this time he wasn't interested in buying her flowers. She was just genuinely interested. With a little cough he cleared his throat.

"I'm looking for a jewelry store." Why, Erik wondered, was that so difficult to say?

"She's lucky."

Her words shocked him, and he stared into the old woman's gray eyes. "W-what?"

"The girl you buy the roses for," she said with a little smirk. "She's a lucky one." She motioned him over, into the shop. "Come on, then. I'll give you directions to a nice little shop not too far from here."

She disappeared into her fragrant store, and Erik quickly followed suit.

* * *

"This is beautiful," Carlotta admitted as she looked beyond the boat and towards the shore of the little lake. So far, her mysterious man had taken her into the big park for a picnic and a boat ride, and she was thrilled. Just at the shore, she could see girls looking longingly at the romantic picture they painted together. She liked the feeling of being envied.

"Not as beautiful as you," he responded in his kind voice. His strong arms rowed with a smooth stroke, making the boat glide seamlessly over the water. He heard her giggle and tried not to smirk.

"Oh, I don't know about _that_..."

"You should know how lovely you are!" He sounded astounded, as if he could not believe the show of modesty she was displaying. He gave her a wry smile. "What about that Erik guy? The one who was mad about you?"

"Oh, well, he was rather dark and mopey. He never would have acted on it."

"He must have! All men try and let the pretty girl they like know _somehow_." He said it so sweetly, and waited patiently until she stopped blushing to continue. "He was a music student, right? He must have written something beautiful for you." He watched her think and lick her lips, hoping. _Come on..._

"Of course he did!" she said almost haughtily. "He wrote the most beautiful song for me, filled with love and desire...it's really too bad it wasn't enough to make me love him." She looked up into his eyes, hoping the lie had made him jealous.

"Where did you hear it?"

"At the masquerade the university put on. He performed it for me that night."

"Would his name, perhaps, be Erik Destler?" He watched her pale, and gave a small laugh. "I read about his performance in the newspaper. You should be very flattered, it was spectacular. To be the muse for such passion is..admirable."

She smiled prettily at that, and he returned the grin with one of his own. _I've got you._

"Tell me, beautiful muse, do you know where the artist is now?"

* * *

Christine laid on Erik's bed in light slumber. He'd been gone the whole day, and left her bored with no one to talk to. Without much to entertain her and in need of unperturbed sleep, it had been so easy for Christine to lie down and close her eyes. In a white silk dress that contrasted the rich red sheets, hair spilling freely on the pillowcases and framing her sweet face, one hand resting comfortably at her heart, this was how Erik found her.

At the very sight he almost lost his nerve. Had he really been away the whole day, he wondered. It had been dark outside by the time he'd decided on something, and the little man in the shop had been impatiently waiting to close down. But hadn't it been worth it?

"Christine," he murmured softly. She didn't stir, and he took silent steps towards the bed. She glowed ethereal, a true sleeping beauty. Instead of placing a kiss upon her lips, however, he knelt beside the bed and took a black box out of his jacket. He gently took her hand and held up the palm. Bending his head, he touched his lips to her warm skin. When he pulled away, he placed the object in her hand and covered it with her slender fingers.

With that simple gesture, Erik rose. He decided that when Christine woke up, it would be best to have some dinner ready.

* * *

When Christine's eyes fluttered open, already she felt something somehow different. A sigh parted her lips, and she shifted up slightly in the bed. As she lifted her hand to stretch it, she froze. Something lay in the palm of her hand. She sat up immediately and looked down at her open palm.

"Oh my..." Her words seemed to dry up and she felt the most curious moment of chills. Then, just as suddenly as the cold swept over her, it was replaced by extreme heat. She was sure her whole body was dyed pink as she picked up the ring with a trembling hand. An engagement ring.

It was unlike anything she'd ever seen. Normally an engagement ring would be gold, with a little diamond sitting atop it. This wasn't gold but a lovely shining white, and a large blood red ruby glinted at her.

_As red as the rose..._, Christine remembered. She raised her left hand and looked at the ring her father had given her and compared it. Was Erik asking her what she thought he was? Her breath was short as she realized its significance. But what was the right thing to do? Could she be a good wife? The word 'wife' frightened her, but...

_I love him_. She slowly tugged the silver band free and set it inside her pocket. The engagement ring fit exactly right.

* * *

Erik was just about to add the shrimp to the pasta when he heard her footsteps. They seemed so loud, matching the beating of his heart. What had he been thinking? They were still so young, and she was so beautiful! Surely this wasn't what she wanted...but it _was_ what he wanted.

"Erik?" Her voice compelled him to turn. She raised her hand, letting the light hit the ring she now wore. "This is beautiful."

"It means-" He had to pause for breath, "It means I want you by my side forever."

She flashed him a shy smile. "I don't need a ring for that."

"Then," he stepped closer to stand before her, "what do you need?"

"Just..." she looked up into his crystal eyes. "Say you love me-"

"You _know_ I do." The back of his hand danced across the apple of her cheek. Her hand caught his just as it fell away, but her eyes never left his. This touch, this _moment_, was all she needed.

"That's enough." She held it tightly. "That's more than enough to make me happy."

* * *

Thanks for reading! The plot is soon to run amok! Who's the mystery man? Why is he looking for Erik? What will happen to the happy couple? Please stick around for the next chapter! Leave a review and I'll update ASAP!

Thanks ever and always to Cymbidium!


	37. Each Night, Each Morning

AN: Hello, everyone! Exams, my love life, and temporary insanity have kept me from writing. I'd like to explain one thing about me--when I write, I want it to be good, and to match up to the ideal story in my head. If I can't do that, I'm not going to post sub-par stuff and torture you with it. That being said, I'm still very sorry for the delays, and I hope I've not lost my readers over this.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but someday...

REVIEW! Please? It makes me giddy...like, baking banana bread giddy...

* * *

"I see." Nadir let one of his more sincere smiles grace his face. He sat on his desk, looking out of his window as he spoke to Erik. Apparently, things had become more serious than he'd thought. "And she said yes?" 

"She's wearing my ring right now." Was it just his imagination, or had Erik actually sounded confident at that moment?

"When are you two-?" No, that didn't sound quite right. Could Erik ever march into city hall and sign a license? That kind of exposure, after all of these silent years, could bring disastrous results.

"No." With his unfinished question, Nadir had somehow saddened Erik. He waited for the boy to continue. "I want to make her the happiest bride...but I can't just step into the light, Daroga."

Nadir understood very well what he meant. Erik had never really left his dark room, even when he'd left the house. In his mind, deep in his heart, that darkness kept him prisoner. Inside, he was still the monstrous boy whose eyes could not handle light. Though Nadir was hopeful that, with Christine by him, he could learn, he knew it wouldn't be an easy rode to recovery.

"Well, Erik, peraps someday..."

"She's my living bride, Nadir. Even if we don't have a scrap of paper telling us that. My feelings won't change."

Nadir respected his stance, and said no more about weddings. "Either way, you should come over for dinner sometime. I'm sure my wife would want to toast you both properly."

"I'll be sure to let Christine know when she comes home." As if predicting the detective's reaction, Erik continued. "She decided to take a walk through the farmer's market for some fresh fruit. I think she'll be trying to fix a cobbler again."

"I see. Good luck on that."

* * *

Carlotta kept weeping into her pillow, as her best friend Jamie made comforting sounds. Really, Jamie had no clue why Carlotta would be crying her eyes out like this for a guy when so many were at her command. Something like envy threatened to overcome any feelings of pity for Carlotta if she kept sobbing like it was the end of the world. 

"Carlotta, I don't understand why you're so upset."

Carlotta looked up from her pillow just long enough to give her friend an angry glance. "I really liked this one, Jamie." She muffled a scream through her pillow. He'd been so perfect! He worshipped her, didn't bore her with small talk about his life, and he was so very handsome! He'd always worn this mysterious, tiny smile on his face, and she'd found it so endearing. Then why, if he was so sweet, had he suddenly turned cold?

Jamie kept rubbing her friend's back in hopes of calming her. "I know you did, Carly. But, what exactly happened?"

"The day after our last date, I was in a really good mood. I called him on his cell phone, to see if he was coming to see me rehearse for _Kiss Me, Kate_." As she explained, she sobbed and her breath became shaky. "But then he..." she hiccuped, and had to pause. "He said 'don't you ever talk about anything but yourself?' Can you believe that!" She shrieked, letting indignation warp her high pitched voice. Jamie tried to keep from wincing at the sound.

"It'll be all right, Carly! Just look at all the handsome men ready to take his place-- it's his loss, not yours!"

Somehow, Carlotta just didn't agree.

* * *

In the comfort of his office, Nadir went over the events of the past few months in his mind. How much Erik had gone through-- hatred, struggle, the demon underneath his skin-- and what he was beginning to find. Acceptance, a little sunlight. A wife. Life had become more than tolerable, something neither Nadir nor his wife had imagined could happen. He was relieved beyond measure, that the boy who played the violin instead of cry was beginning to grow, to move past his standstill time. 

A knock interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see the door click open, and a young man step in. His blue eyes watched him in a way that unnerved Nadir. It was the stare, he realized, of a detective much like his own.

"Hello." The blue-eyed stranger spoke in a gentle, deep voice that betrayed nothing. "You are detective Kahn?"

"Yes." Nadir cleared his throat, and motioned him to a chair in front of his desk before taking his own. "How can I help you?"

"I've been told to talk to you about a missing person."

"Yes, of course." Nadir still eyed him carefully, not quite liking the smile on the boy. He took out some papers and clicked his pen. "Now, give me some information regarding the person."

"Well, it's a strange case, sir." He admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "But from what I've heard tell, you like strange things."

If something had been warning Nadir before, now it was urging him to show this man the door now. Even while he was being childish in gesture, he was threatening. This young man _knew_ something. "I don't know what you're talking about. You'll need to be more specific if you expect me to help."

The young man stood, and took a turn around the room. If he was looking for anything, he didn't show it. He was leisurely walking, unafraid. Nadir felt his dislike growing at this gesture of dominance. When the boy finally turned, he gave a little smirk.

"Would you mind if I told you a little story?" He asked Nadir. "It's morbidly amusing, and I pieced it together myself." Was there pride behind that statement? The boy walked directly toward Nadir's desk, and planted a hand there, looking him straight in the eye. "It's a story of murderous insanity, and lustful desire. The stuff that operas are made of, I believe."

* * *

"--And I am telling you, Erik, that I am perfectly capable of making pie!" Christine argued as she rolled the dough to make a thin top crust. "Really, you make it sound like I'll set everything on fire if I try again." 

"I'm more than happy to buy some sweets at a bakery, if that's what you want." He eyed the mixture inside the pie crust carefully. It _did_ look fine, but he'd been fooled once already. Had she poured too much sugar again this time? He couldn't be sure...

"For goodness' sake!" Christine smoothed the dough softly and pressed it at the plate's edge to seal it. Once she was finished and satisfied she turned around and put her hands on her apron. "I mastered the belle canto, didn't I? I can surely bake a pie."

"Yes, well, you had me teaching you for months. Quite frankly, I'm not such a master of baking." He attempted to mollify her by placing a gentle hand over the ribbon that held her curls up. They came tumbling down in waves with a flick of his wrist.

"Erik!" She cried out, lifting her own hands to fix her hair but realizing how messy they were. She gave him a smart look before running off to the sink to wash her hands. "I had my hair up for a good reason--I wanted to keep it away from what I was making." Once her hands were sufficiently clean, she scooped up her curly mane and made to twist it back up, when he took her hand into his own.

"Don't." He said softly, looking over the glory of her hair. She stared at him quizzically. "You're beautiful just like this." He bent down so that his forhead toched hers, and the shadows darkened the color of her eyes. Her blush spread quickly, and she wondered why he had this powe over her, why his voice could undo her so easily.

"If you think...that I'm just going to forget about the pie..." She struggled to keep her thoughts together as he leaned in to kiss her. It was all sweetly unfair, she thought.

* * *

If Nadir had not been a detective, born for the calling, he would be sweating at this moment. Not five feet in front of him was a stranger who knew more than he should. Dangerously so. And he recounted the story with ease, no malice in his being. 

"Once upon a time, there was a dark and lonely prince who lived in a tall tower. But on one tragic night, the little prince lost his mind, and his very violin strings became soaked in blood. Then, while the whole kingdom mourned, he disappeared. So sudden, no? As if a fairy godmother had whisked him off to safety, as if he deserved such a guardian." He kept his cool eyes on Nadir, but the detective _felt_ the implication. "Well, the deranged little prince was thought to be dead and rotting in the bowels of hell, and this made the villagers very happy. But, he re-emerged. _Alive_. Do you know why?"

Nadir did not answer, but knew he could not stop the grotesque fairy tale the young man was weaving in his office. He only thanked God that the door was closed.

"Well," he resumed, leaning in as if this were gossip, "it turns out that a lovely maiden drew his attention. What should I call this nightengale-princess?" He seemed to muse for a moment, deeply contemplating his own question. Suddenly, his eyes sparked to life. "Christine. It's a lovely name, isn't it, for a lovely girl?"

_Oh, God..._Nadir fought back the fear, keeping his face as impassive as he could.

"The demon wanted Christine's voice, Sir." He calmly explained. "He coveted and so he stole her from the village, to live with him in his hell."

"Does this story have a point?" Nadir feigned annoyance, when in reality he was apprehensive. What was the brat getting at?

"Why, only that it's not over! She's still trapped, like a songbird, in his cage." He stood tall now, his smile gone now. "That's why I'm here. Someone has to slay the monster and rescue the princess. That's how it works."

Nadir stared with something like horror filling his senses. "Is that what you honestly believe?" He asked before he realized how unwise it was. Then the pause stretched between them, making time pass unbearably slowly.

Then the young man's laugh tore at the silence. He lifted a hand and ran it through his smooth hair as he chuckled. "What I believe isn't pertinent to you. As a detective, though, I'll need your assistance to find him."

His implications sank in, and Nadir sighed. This could not be avoided. This young man knew too much, and seemed too interested in playing to this sick script of his. "I have many missing persons to find. I have no time--"

"Well, make it, then." There was no humor left on his face, instead he clenched his teeth in annoyance. "I've been perfectly patient, but there's a limit." At this, he pulled out a small, white envelope from his pocket, and held it out to Nadir. "Should you find him, someday in the future, give him that. He'll understand."

Just as quickly as the darkness fell on his face, it disappeared. He was back, smiling at the detective. "Well, I think that's all I require from you. Thank you very much for your time, detective."

"Wait!" Nadir demanded. He was actually surprised to see the strange boy turn to regard him. "Who...should I say this came from? If I ever find your man?"

The blue eyed boy considered this, sincerely for a moment.

"Tell him that Joseph Buquet looks forward to seeing him again."

He was gone, leaving Nadir trembling like a leaf.

* * *

The past is coming to haunt the phantom...REVIEW and I'll reveal more of the mystery. Thank you, and stay tuned! 


	38. Why?

AN: Next chapter up! The curtain must go up once more!

REVIEW, because I need the inspiration to write deep into the AM hours and get this story done instead of sleep!

Disclaimer: Obviously, if you haven't figured it out by now, I don't own PotO

* * *

Nadir tapped his finger on the envelope as he thought. Everything seemed to be spinning, distracting him and keeping him from making a decision. Joseph Buquet. It was a name he had not heard for a very long time, had hoped never to hear again. He glanced at the seemingly innocent envelope and briefly considered ripping it apart. But no, that would do no good. If that boy had already been this direct...Erik was being hunted, and Nadir knew he would prefer a more level playing field.

He switched on the intercom. "Thelma, cancel everything for today. I'm going home early."

"Are you feeling sick, detective?" She asked as he moved to grab his hat and coat.

"Yes..." he murmured, "A touch of something."

He switched off the intercom and grabbed his keys, in too much of a hurry to do anything else.

* * *

Christine had detected the smell too late. After Erik had taken a kiss by surprise, her attention to anything but him had disappeared. It had been soft and sweet, but possessive. It was Erik. And she'd loved the feeling of his arms as braced her small form and laid her down amidst the toussled ruby sheets. She loved _him_.

But the pie wasn't salvageable. She'd run like a woman possessed, Erik not far behind, and would have burned her hands trying to get it out of the oven if not for him. Erik had simply swatted her frenzied hands away, and put on the mitts and pulled out the little disaster. It was only Christine's crestfallen look that kept him from looking amused. Inside, he took an absurd pride in being that great a distraction to her.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed, and lifted a hand to her brow. Christine wasn't looking at him, but instead fanned the destroyed pastry.

"It's only a pie, Christine." He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at her waving hands. "You could try again." He offered.

"Yes, I suppose I should." She mused aloud. "Maybe I could have one ready by tonight."

Erik watched her only a moment longer, a small frown on his face, before taking her hands in his. His words were slow but rich as syrup in her ears. "Why are you doing this?"

Christine tilted her head back a little, so that her curious brown eyes met his. "I want to learn." Her words earned a little shake of his head.

"No, you didn't want to before." His warm breath trickled down her cheek, and she shivered. "You were never very interested in this sort of thing before."

"Well, things have changed, haven't they?" She spoke quickly, eyes looking back at the pie. It embarrassed her to let him see how little she could really do.

"Paris." His one word snapped her back to reality.

"What?"

"You said you wanted to sing in Paris." Erik reminded her gently, in a voice filled with some hushed emotion. Christine laughed softly and shook her head.

"When I was a child." She reminded him.

"You've excelled as a singer. You could perform anywhere you liked." He knew she could, he knew she'd _dreamed_ of it. Then why was she trying so desperately to be more domestic?

"Things are different now, Erik. I have nothing to prove." She turned and looked at him, a smile on her face. Her hands raised themselves to trace his gentle features, and he closed his eyes. They both understood what she meant.

_I'm yours now. Life's changed._

"Lover or not, I've still let you slack far too much." He retorted. "Let's fix that."

* * *

"What else am I to do, Antoinette?" Nadir paced the room as his wife sat with a blank expression on her face. She looked at the envelope, very tempted to open it. This man clearly had no good intentions toward her young friend, and it worried her greatly.

"Erik would want to know." His nod assured her that he'd had the same thought. She sighed. "Then let's go together. The sooner he knows, the better. We don't know what this man is planning."

"No, I'm going alone." Nadir decided. He raised a hand to silence the protest ready on his wife's lips. "No, I won't allow my family to be targeted. You have both Meg and Madeleine to worry about keeping safe."

"Erik--"

"...will understand. He knows you have to keep safe for their sake." Once again he took up his keys, and looked at his wife as she stood, beautiful and proud as ever. "If I can get to Erik in time, I can help him. Everything will be fine."

Mrs. Giry, in an uncharacteristic moment, wrapped her arms around her husband. "Help him, then. For both of us."

* * *

A blue toyota pulled out of a driveway, and headed toward the city. A desperate detective sat behind the wheel, years of training forgotten with fresh panic. He did not notice, a few cars behind, as a black nissan followed.

_Follow the leader,_ the driver thought. His smirk was cemented on his face, his victory sure in coming. Soon, everything would be coming together. Erik would be discovered, and he wouldn't even have time to run away.

_No, this time he's paying..._

* * *

The sound of a knocking interrupted the music they'd been making. Christine looked at Erik. "Did you invite the Girys?"

Erik shook his head, but stood and headed to the door. "Probably just Nadir, here to meddle again." It earned him a little scowl, but no real resentment. He smiled a little and turned the key in the lock with a click. His cool eyes met Nadir's worried ones. Before Erik could ask what was wrong, Nadir thrust out a white envelope at him.

"Joseph Buquet gave this to me."

The words weighed on his heart like lead. _No, not after all of this...not after Christine..._

Erik took the letter with a steady hand, even though he was rattling inside. It was impossible! Impossible! But, here was proof of a man named Buquet lived, in his hand. He opened it, even as he heard Christine enter the room with a tea tray.

_I know who you are. Your blood soaked fingers give you away. _

_You were a little boy who lived in a dark room. You killed, and tried to leave your cage. But you just can't. You cannot ever be free of that dark room, can you? Do you understand why? It's because **you** are that darkness. Yes, you, Erik, are death stalking abroad. _

_But don't worry. I promise this story will end happily ever after. Your latest victim will be saved. And you will go back into the dark._

_Soon._

_JB_

Erik turned pale, and felt each beat of his heart as if it would be his last. Joseph...that man! He couldn't...

"He wasn't Joseph." Nadir said slowly. "He couldn't have been. This was a boy, barely your age."

_Then who..._ Erik's mind was trying to make sense of this note, when he realized Christine was there closeby. Christine!

"You have to take her, Nadir." Erik's eyes pierced the older man's. "Whoever he is, he's coming soon."

"He knows about her, Erik. He knows too much. I doubt you could hide-"

"More reason why Christine's not safe with me!" He crumpled the note in his fist angrily. "Get her away from here."

"I'm not going anywhere." Her calm voice. Both men turned to see her. "Don't speak as if I'm not in the room, either."

"Erik is right...we don't know what this man wants." Nadir nodded his head at Erik. "For a little while, it might be best if you come stay with us."

Christine turned her frown first at the detective, then at Erik. "No." She said simply. "I am not moving from here until you explain to me what exactly is going on, Erik."

"Christine-"

"I think I deserve to know what's going on, don't you?" She set the tray down on the coffee table and crossed her arms in front of her, determined not to move.

Erik let the anger and fear slowly be restrained, and looked at Nadir. "Daroga, give us time." Before Nadir could protest he pressed on. "Not much time, perhaps a day." Erik's gaze never left Christine's form. "I need to talk to her alone."

Nadir looked at them both as if they were mad, but nodded his head and moved to the door. He paused. "If anything seems out of the ordinary, come to us. By any means necessary, do you understand Erik?"

Erik gave him a wry look. "She's my fiancee, Daroga. I'd fly if I needed to."

No one had time to feel touched by his sentiment, only to take it as truth. Without another word Nadir unlocked the door and hurried away, leaving Christine and Erik alone to talk things over.

* * *

From his rear view mirror as he drove off, the young Mr. Buquet could see the detective leave a specific apartment. Things were going according to plan, maybe even better. How quickly Mr. Kahn had panicked, and headed off to find his undeserving Godchild.

_And the little princess must be in the monster's den,_ he mused. He gave a little chuckle. How could she not be? In the oldest children's fables, the pretty maiden was always found huddling in the corner and waiting for someone to rescue her.

He clutched at the steering wheel a little more tightly now. The poor girl. She was being held by someone so utterly beneath her, a depraved monster. Once he'd done a little research and deduced that he was holding her captive, any second thoughts about his plans flew out the window. No, this was not a man he was dealing with. A man would repent, would learn from folly. A man had the hope to be saved. This _thing_ would be lucky if hell didn't exist.

But for now, he had to go and get a few things. It would not do to be unprepared for their meeting.

* * *

"Erik...who is Joseph Buquet?" Christine knew she had to ask, yet dreaded the question all the same. And Erik's eyes seemed so wild when he looked at her. It was almost...terror? No, she shook the thought from her mind. It wouldn't do to become afraid or unsure.

He paced, moving in quick strides back and forth. How to tell her, when he thought this had all been buried long ago, escaped him. But here was some strange man, threatening him. Perhaps even her. He stopped in his tracks and looked at his beloved Christine. If this...Buquet knew so much about her, then knowledge might be the only thing to save her. It still didn't make this any easier to say.

"Do you remember," Erik began, "do you remember the story the Kahns told you? Of...that night?" Her dumb nod gave him courage, but he had to turn away from her now. "The housekeeper...the housekeeper's name was Joseph Buquet. "

"Oh, God." She murmured, and needed to sit down. Her hands reached for the chair closest to her and sat, eyes trained on his back. She didn't need to look at him to understand he was reliving something horrible. She could feel it, and it weighed down inside her. "Is he-"

"It's impossible, Christine. I read his file, and I saw the papers. He didn't survive." He ran his hands through his hair, tryng to will himself away from those memories. _That man_! Even now, could he force himself to feel compassion towards that mocking creature?

"Why did you?" Her voice broke, but she stood now, and stepped in front of him. He still would not meet her eyes.

"It was very long ago. Things are different now." He tried to explain, but failed as her hands touched his face and forced him to look at her. She wasn't going to back away from this question, even if it hurt.

"Why?" Christine pleaded for understanding. "Why?"

"I was a child." He breathed in shudders. "I was a child, and I was afraid. I wasn't allowed out of ..._that_ room, but it didn't stop him from coming in." He felt her arms around his neck, comforting him. "It was the only time the lights were on, and they blinded me. But he _saw_ me. Mocked me." The rage was still there, burning and licking its way to the surface. The humiliated pride of a child. The loss of a kind of innocence. "I _hate _that man."

What could she say to that? How could she make it all right, make that angry little boy disappear? She trembled as she held on to him, but she refused to let go. Whatever darkness might be swallowing him at this moment, she would not let him go alone. Her fingertips felt the smooth skin of his neck, were tickled by the strands of hair at the collar. This, she had to remind herself, was her Erik. Not that poor boy. That was all the strength she needed.

"The man is gone, Erik." She looked into his eyes, trying to reassure him. "Whatever he did, whoever he was, he is not here."

Would anything, even love, savethem now? Erik did not know if he could chance to hope...

* * *

AN: Woot, chapter done! Joseph is coming, the end is drawing near, and the next chapter will be up as soon as I can finish it. Please review and make me happy. Happy equals update!


	39. Promise Me

AN: Ok, my diehards, the time has come for the story to complete the magic spell it's cast upon me! Hope you'll love, laugh, and maybe even cry...but most of all, I hope you all REVIEW! It makes me giddy

Thanks to everyone who's kept up with this story-- that is the greatest compliment to my fragile little ego :)

Disclaimer: Own nothin...or Christine would never end up with the Viscomte...

* * *

Last time... 

_"The man is gone, Erik." She looked into his eyes, trying to reassure him. "Whatever he did, whoever he was, he is not here."_

_

* * *

_

"But someone's still after me." He coaxed her into his chest, and held her like glass. "And he could try to hurt you."

Christine tried to wriggle out of his soft hold, but it would not yield. "If you think that I'll leave you alone, you've got another thing coming."

"If you think I'll let anything happen to you when I can prevent it, you're insane." He finally pulled away, just enough to tilt her head up. He smoothed a curl gently. "It wouldn't be forever."

"How long would I stay with Antoinette and Nadir?"

"You won't be staying with them."

"Then--"

"You'll go somewhere I won't know about." Erik said, his voice thick. "I have to make sure you're safe."

"No." She shook her head. This couldn't be happening, not so suddenly. She refused to let this happen.

"If I can't track you, neither can he." He explained. This was not what he wanted. He wanted to be always with her, to be close enough to love her. But this was a new threat, and he couldn't take it lightly. He released her and took a step back. "Pack your things, Christine. I'll take you to Nadir's in the morning."

"Don't push me away, Erik!" She held on to the sleeve of his shirt. "I won't let you."

"You don't have a choice, Christine." His expression was deadly serious. "You're not staying here."

"Then you're going to have to drug me," She insisted.

"Don't think I won't." He shot back without skipping a beat, and it made her cringe.

"You would-"

"I would do anything I had to in order to protect you." Erik responded gravely. "You know that." This man could not, would not, be given the power to find her.

Christine covered her mouth with trembling hands. Everything was getting so out of hand! In the span of an hour, she realized, she'd lost the illusion of security they'd been living in for so long. One way or another, Erik was determined to make her leave, and she couldn't fight that. But that didn't make it ok.

"Don't do this. There has to be another way-"

"Yes, running." Erik scoffed. "Running until he found us. Nothing would be safe, you'd never have a home."

"But I'd have you!" Christine cried, her eyes brimming with fear. "Don't you understand that?"

"I'd find you," he spoke quietly, holding her shoulders. "When I found a way-"

"And what would you have me do, Erik, while I was left all alone?" She shied away from what she really wanted to say.

_What is there for me, besides you?_

"Live, Christine." He spoke with so much ache in his voice that it finally bid the tears to fall down Christine's face. "Find your place in the world again, and sing."

She shook him off, the hurt taking control. "Learn to be lonely, you mean."

Before he could reply, she was gone, locked behind the door of her old room.

* * *

A small trip had to be made, once the gun had been collected from his apartment. He drove beyon the outskirts of the city, just as the cold snow began to fall. It started out so white, he noticed. The snow was crisp white as it fell only to turn gray in the soot and dirt of the city, a dirty film to be crunched under your boots.

As he parked and got out into the bristling cold, this is what he was thinking. How much he hated the snow. And this city. But something kept him anchored here once more. A blood debt to be paid, and the time was fast approaching. He moved past the massive black gates with a determined gait. He had a specific reason to come here today. He knelt besire a silver slab, letting the brown slush of snow and earth soak into him.

_I am not a praying man,_ he told that inscription. _I have never believed in you, much less God. But, when this is all over, I'm leaving. I won't return here again. I only...I only wanted to see this once. _

He rose carefully, and turned to the gates. There was a little more watching to do... _When this is over, you won't have any hold over me._

He walked forward, his back turned to the glinting grave marker.

_Joseph Buquet, R.I.P._

* * *

Christine was livid as she paced her room. There had to be another way! Something to keep them both safe, without having to separate. Why had he even suggested something so stupid? Didn't he know it wouldn't ever be worth it?

With a stiffled sob she fell into a chair, only to feel something prod her hip. From her jeans pocket, she fished out her little cell phone. Erik had given it to her when she'd gotten lost walking around the neighborhood, and she'd promised to hold onto it ever since. Now she stared at it, hoping it would give her some sort of magic answer.

_Antoinette_. Hers was the only voice she could find reason in. Another woman, she was sure, would be sure to understand her point of view. She dialed the number quickly and held her breath as the phone rang.

"Hello, _ma cherie._" Antoinette picked up the phone with as much cheer as she could muster. Nadir, Christine assumed, must have already explained the situation.

"This man...and Erik...Nadir told you, right?" Christine wanted the words out, gone away from her so she could feel relieved. "Erik wants to make me go away."

"Where to?" Mrs. Giry had heard from her husband that the girl might be staying with them..

"Away from him. Not your home, but to somewhere he couldn't lead anyone else to." More tears fell. Dear, merciful God, did a human being ever run out of them?

Antoinette closed her eyes and breathed deeply, lettin it sink in. It was obvious that the girl was hurting, and she could understand, but safety was not something Erik could risk. "It's a smart move. He's thinking of you."

"But don't you understand? The last time we were separated..." The memory of that broken, beautiful man as he fell into her arms was too much.

_'If I leave, you'll die. I know that now...'_

"You were right then, and so was I. He would have died of a broken heart if you'd left him."

"Then-"

"No, not this time. He's trying to keep you safe. That's not suicidal or fatalistic-- that's love." Antoinette was unhappy witht he situation, but the selflessness Erik seemed to display made her feel very proud as well. "Knowing Erik, though, I know it wouldn't be for long."

"Why can't he just come with me, then?" Christine felt the slick cool of where the tears had streamed down her cheeks, and shuddered.

"Before you met Erik, you had a normal life. Aspirations. After everything, you've accepted his ring and are willing to give up everything and live quietly beside him. But he's giving you your wings, one last time, to fly away from his arms and toward the light again. Don't you understand, Christine? He not only wants to keep you safe, he wants you to have your sunlight once more."

Christine fell silent at the sudden revelation. Erik not only wanted to protect her life...he wanted to return it. It was humbling, the way he was so ready to give her everything without even telling her.

"But..." She cleared her throat with uncertainty, "but what if all I ever really wanted was him?" Even now, she missed those strong arms, the eyes that seemed like stained glass, and did not know what to do.

"Then, when this has ended, when Erik is satisfied, he will find you. Go to him then."

* * *

She hadn't even opened the door when he'd knocked and offered a tray of food. Erik was worried-- she hadn't eaten that day, and what he'd quickly made for supper had gone cold-- but he was still set on his course of action. He hadn't been lying when he said he'd make her leave. Though it would be painful, unbearably so, Erik would drug her if that's what it took. Wearily he sat down to his piano, but did not produce a single note.

He'd been such a fool. With happiness and a ring, he'd been so certain that everything would work itself out. Her dreams forgotten, his past behind him, this new life together had been an amazing castle in the sky that he could almost touch. But it didn't seem cruel to him, to have had this beautiful hope with her. He only ached, and understood.

"Is he going to hurt you?" Her question, spoken in the softest tones, surprised him. He turned, and answered without thinking twice about it.

"He might try." Erik smirked, and tried to make his tone light. The scars of worry were starting to form around Christine's beautiful dark brown eyes, and he would not stand for it. He reached for a stray curl, but her hands caught his with a warm pressure.

"Promise me." She searched his eyes. The smirk was fading. She released his hand and raised her left one for him to see. The ring glinted as she slid it off her finger.

"Christine-"

His worry was unfounded, he realized, as her other hand opened the palm of his hand. "Promise me, that you will not be harmed." Her lip quivered a little, but she remained strong. "Promise that you'll find me." She placed the ring in his palm, and closed his fingers over it. "Promise to return this, when you do-- this, and all of the plans we had together."

Erik understood. She would go willingly, to whatever corner of the earth he sent her to, as long as she knew he would find her. And finding her again was the one reason to keep living. She was inspiration and beauty and love. She was air.

"I promise."

* * *

"Christine, are you sure--"

"Yes," she said quietly, "that's everything I'll need." She looked at the bags, then back at Erik. Night had fallen, and day's rational rays of light were beaming.

She was leaving this apartment. She might never see it again. But, before she left, she would have a walk around. Determined, she left Erik fixing little details and schedules with Nadir and walked out into the courtyard just behind the entrance. She'd always been ushered out, and had never really looked. The snow covered everything except an icy pathway, but the sun would soon fix that. What would it look like, she wondered, when everything had melted away?

Eyes. She felt eyes watching her, but they were not Erik's. He was still in the apartment, making sure Nadir knew what he was doing. Christine's breath hitched in her throat as she turned and peered close to the doorway. A young boy, her age, with golden brown hair watched her curiously. He was obviously surprised that she was outside.

"Don't worry, Miss. I'm not here to hurt you." His words were surprisingly gentle, and she took a few steps closer, so that all that separated them was shadow. "Did you escape?"

"Escape?" She nearly squeaked.

"From that _man_." He spoke with such anger in his blue eyes that Christine had no doubt about who this was.

"Joseph Buquet." She spoke his name slowly, trying to find the courage she needed. "I don't need to escape from him. He's letting me go." Her eyes held no malice as she looked into his surprised face, and her heart felt no resentment. She only worried and hoped now, in turns. "Let me say this, though. If you do anything to hurt him, I'll find you. I'll gladly burn in hell to make you pay for it." There was no threat, only honesty in her voice, which Buquet found more frightening.

"Why?" He whispered.

"It's funny, the way a circle works. You hate him enough to want to hurt him, but if you do, it'll make me want to hurt you in return. If it keeps going like this, everyone's hurt and no one's saved. It's sad."

"You-" The realization dawned on him. When had she... and with _Erik!_

"I'm leaving now. I hope you understood that what I said wasn't an idle threat."

"Why aren't you trying to stop me?"

"This is between you and Erik now. But don't you dare hurt him." With that, she turned and walked quickly away, hoping to God that something she said would move him. She had somewhere to be right now. She left the intruder in the shadows, confused by her words and the pain of longing written so clearly on her face. But it was obvious that her freedom wasn't what she longed for...

* * *

He held her hand as they drove, and as they checked her bags. Nadir and Antoinette were just up ahead, next to the escalators, and he kept his fingers laced with hers as they walked. He didn't know what to say, not when he could not ask her where she would go. Mrs. Giry's daughter had offered her dormitory as a temporary home to Christine, but after that, Erik would not allow himself to be informed. She was safer, more free, that way.

"I had a dream last night." Her soft voice wasn't sad, but it held a strange emotion all the same. Erik stopped, and so did she, but he did not turn to look at her. Instead he kept his gaze fixed on the stairs just beyond the detective and his wife.

"What was it about?"

"You, I think."

He had to smile a little at that. "Really?"

She nodded her head, but didn't turn to look at him. She squeezed his hand instead. "It was raining in the dream, and I...was standing in the middle of it. It was so strong, and when I blinked my eyes open all I could see was the water's silver mist. But you were there."

"Where was I standing?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I couldn't see you through that rain. But I knew you were there with me." She took a step forward, even though he stood still. Their clasped hands were slowly coming apart. "You're always with me." She would not turn to see his reaction, whether it was solemn of heartbreaking. If she turned now, she knew, there would be no strength left in her.

"I like your dream." His smile never left his face, even as her fingers finally brushed free of his grasp. He watched her take those steps forward, and watched her as she was given papers and embraces before she got on the escalator. She seemed to speak a few words to Nadir, and he nodded. Not once did she turn to see him, never allowing him to see if she was crying or not.

He was grateful that she didn't try to say goodbye. This wasn't over. They both understood that.

* * *

AN: This is not the end! It made me sad, but I had to do it-- danger's afoot, and Erik had to keep her safe. More than that, though, is the fact that I hate stories where Christine never pursues her dreams. Well, that's just my take on it-- but you'll have to see where I go with this story! Maybe a romance/tragedy...? REVIEW AND STAY TUNED! 


	40. Knowing We Must Say Goodbye

AN: We've passed the point of no return, dear readers! To all of those who have stuck with the story this long. please be patient a little while longer.

REVIEW! NOT BEING SUBTLE ANYMORE! I need the inspiration to finish and really bring the tale to an end!

Disclaimer: I own nothing...this is why I do fanfiction...

* * *

Erik stood there a while, after she'd disappeared. He found no reason to move, even as Nadir approached him. The detective placed a hand on his shoulder in a fatherly way. His eyes sought Erik's.

"She told me that Joseph is waiting for you."

"I figured he would be hanging around the apartment. I'm just glad I got her away in time."

"But now what? What about you?" Nadir hoped that the boy had a plan.

"I should go home and confront him. We need to talk."

"Erik-" He was genuinely surprised. "Erik, don't you understand? He means to kill you."

"I know." He looked the couple over. "But he let her go."

Mrs. Giry was the one to first find her voice. "Then, do you believe he might let you go, just because of that?" It wasn't at all sensible! A grudge like this...

"No. But now there's an even bigger debt to pay him." As he turned to walk towards his car, the couple followed close behind.

"Erik, we don't understand!" Nadir was frustrated-- why was he going about this as if it weren't so dangerous!

Still, they proceeded towards his sleek black car without another word from the suddenly driven man before them. Erik, to the detective, nearly crackled with uncontrolled energy. Anger? Pain? Sorrow? Love? All were indistianguishable from one another in that powerful gait of his.

Once they arrived, he whirled on them, his hands gripping Nadir's shoulders. "I tried, Daroga. But it wasn't enough to put a ring on her finger."

"What are you saying, Erik?" Antoinette's hand rested on one of Erik's as it held her husband. They stood there, trying to make sense of everything and running out of time to do so. But something was escaping from this boy, something that he'd held secret and shut away, perhaps even from himself. Confrontation had pulled Erik away from the happy life he'd only partially discovered. Now he was peering into the darkness.

"It didn't make me a man." He admitted it. He was not yet a man to match her, if he could not keep her close. "A man doesn't continue to live in dark rooms forever. A man doesn't run from his past." This was as much for himself as for her sake, and all three of them knew it. It was time he began to stand up.

Slowly, Erik loosened his grip and stepped away. A letter emerged from his black coat, and Erik tucked it into the detective's hand. He opened his car door as Nadir and Antoinette watched him. What could they do, in the face of his determination and his sacrifice, but watch him go and utter a silent prayer for his safety?

* * *

_Please keep seatbelts fastened until the captain otherwise notifies the flight crew. Thank you for complying with..._

Wrong. That was the only way to describe the feel of the pale skin on her ring finger as she rubbed it gently. It was wrong for it to be so bare, when before it had been so full of hopes for the future. Christine knew there was still a promise, and Erik was not the type of man to break his word, but wasn't it all right to feel weak right now? Wasn't it, not that she didn't have to be brave for anyone else, to let a few tears trickle? And yet she couldn't find it in herself to cry.

She observed the tan line, so marked by the loss of the ring, and felt strange comfort there. Gingerly she brought her lips to the skin and kissed it.

_There is a promise there, waiting._ She had to believe in that._ I have to believe in him._

_

* * *

_

Nadi and Antoinette sat at their table, the letter between them. Once they'd arrived home they promptly opened the letter, but now they were held speechless by its contents. They could not move to act for anyone, not Christine, Erik, or even themselves.

_Nadir and Antoinette,_

_This is not an optimistic note, I'm afraid. But there are things, beyond my control now, that must be rectified. For the hurt I've imposed on you, I know there is nothing I can say to alleviate it. I only hope this letter might make everything clearer to you both._

_This man wants to take revenge, and I can't reasonably tell him he doesn't have that right. I've never claimed to be a man, much less a saint, and you're both aware of my past. I had hoped, when I met Christine, that I could forget it all if I found love. Now I know that is a lie. Love, I realize, is a painful, searing white light. With every gentle touch and smile, she exposed the darkness within and made me look at it. _

_I cannot use love as an excuse to run away from this man's claim. It would be an insult to everything she taught me to want to believe in. I've accepted my decision, whatever it might bring about, so do not interfere. This is something which lies between the two of us and has to be dealt with. _

_This decision might cost me my life. I made a promise to Christine, to live and return to her, but another one was made much longer ago, which I won't turn away from. I don't know if it is possible for me to keep both promises-- they seem so contrary to me that it feels unlikely-- but if something should occur, please care for her. There are accounts I've opened in her name that should keep her comfortable. In her luggage, there is a similar note waiting for her, with instructions on how to access her new accounts. For all of the kindness and affection she's given me, Christine should never have to face a day of misery for the rest of her life. Please let her be happy--make certain she builds a life for herself on it.._

_Finally, I have to thank you both. You've both weathered my temper and bitterness more than anyone could expect you to. Because of your association with my past, I'm sure you both have scars you refuse to let me see. Scars I've inflicted. An apology would be useless, and wouldn't convey what I really mean to say, so I'll spare us all. Instead, I thank you both. These past few months were the happiest times in my life, not just because I had her by my side, but because we were all together. A strange sort of family, but a family nonetheless. I'd like to think that we were all so happy._

_Thank you, a thousand times,_

_E._

Time continued to pass, but neither moved. The clock ticked away and the tears kept coursing downward, but the couple sat still. Everything had been said.

* * *

_Footfalls echo in my memory, down the passage which I did not take, towards that door I never opened._

What awaited him was not a rose garden. It was a stranger, ready to maim and possibly deadly. And he was afraid, but Erik had promised her. As long as she was by his side, that had been their agreement, hadn't it? So he would have to brace himself now, as he stepped out of his car and headed toward his apartment. He knew that the shadows were watching him tonight. Strangely, he could feel the other man's presence and found himself turning towards it. There was no weapon in Erik's pocket this time.

The man walked out of the shadows, the slush on snow crunching the only sound in that deadly night. His blue eyes, that had twinkled before, were harsh. He inspected Erik as if he expected an attack at any moment.

"You're Erik, aren't you?' It wasn't a question, but Erik gave a stiff nod nonetheless.

"You have my name, but I don't have yours. You can't be Joseph Buquet."

"I can." Neither men took a step towards or away from the other. In this abandoned complex, their dueling ground, only the two of them existed. There was no such thing as safety. "My name is Joseph Buquet. My father named me."

"You're Buquet's son." Erik murmured. It was simple, logical, and yet Erik found himself angry. Angry he hadn't solved the puzzle sooner, and that this boy had _that man's_ blood in him. But then he remembered Christine. _Christine._

"You have to know, by now, that I've come to kill you." Now he took a step forward, toward his prey. He was ready to end all of this.

"I know. And you have a right to come looking for revenge." He stood his ground, and watched his opponent closely. "But I made a promise to live."

That earned a moment of surpised, wild laughter from Joseph. A short, hysterical moment that came from hatred, not amusement. Erik watched it with a growing kind of horror. "Well," Joseph regained his composure and reached into his pocket, "you wouldn't be the first to break a promise."

The flash of metal in the weak sunset was all the warning Erik needed. As the first silenced bullet was shot, Erik had already begun to move. It whizzed just by his ear, just enought to frighten. The next shot, Erik was sure, would be closer unless he moved faster.

The magazine clip of the gun was far from empty, and Joseph was too consumed with his justice to refrain from firing a few shots consecutively. But he wasn't a bad shot. He'd been waiting, like a caged panther, for too long. While Erik had eluded him, he'd learned to aim. He was fairly accurate by now, and as one of the shots finally grazed Erik's shoulder deeply enough to elicit a groan from the man Joseph gained confidence.

He walked to where Erik stood clutching at the wound, his gun trained carefully. "Where did you take her?"

"That..." Erik heaved, "that, you have no right to know." His response earned him a bullet, right in the same arm. Joseph didn't flinch.

Erik remained standing, as his own blood slowly trickled over his hand. He had a memory like this, didn't he? A woman's warm blood, a child's cry of anguish...

"She has nothing to do with this, Buquet." Erik looked him in the eye. _Keep standing. Don't fall down._ He kept telling himself this, forcing himself to forget the pain.

"She makes me sick." Joseph spoke, and Erik's face quickly hardened. "I thought I had to rescue her. It's why I hurried into this. I thought you were hurting her."

"I wasn't-"

"I know that now!"He yelled into Erik's face, gun pointed. "She actually threatened me. She wanted me to let you go!" He closed his eyes, but his finger was on the trigger, ready to kill him. "I'm not wrong. I'm not wrong!"

_'Promise me.'_ Her voice rang, and it filled him with strange warmth. He could hear her.

"I know." Erik's words washed over him like cold water. Joseph opened his eyes to see that Erik had not moved. He was looking at him honestly. "I hated Joseph Buquet. He was cruel and a drunken bastard-"

"Shut up!" The next shot grazed Erik's cheek, but he didn't move. It made Joseph tremble. Now Erik was beginning to understand what had driven Joseph for all of these years. It hadn't been a desire to kill. It was different, but they were alike.

"He was a monster to me. And I didn't think twice about what I did. I was only a child, an angry, hate-filled child...maybe you were, too."

"I said shut up!" Joseph brought the gun hard to the side of Erik's face, with enough force to finally force him to his knees. He would've done it again, except this time Erik's injured hand caught it.

It was a deadly game they now played, a perverse Russian roulette. Erik had the weapon by its barrel, and Buquet by the base. Joseph would have had no qualm about shooting, if his finger could only reach the trigger, but Erik kept moving and twisting to keep it away. Finally, realizing he had no choice, Erik lunged up with all of his strength and knocked Joseph to the ground.

A silenced shot rang between them, then the gun was in Erik's hands. Joseph was completely defenseless and heaving on the ground. But his eyes still burned with hatred. And for a moment he forgot, too, and hated him. Erik hated that he'd been stalked, been forced to give up what he treasured most in the world, and the fact that this boy looked too much like his father. And the gun _was_ in his hands..

_'I'll stay with you, Erik. Until the day I die.' _

Slowly he lowered the weapon and took a step back. "But I was only a child. I had no right to kill a man, even that one. I had not right to do _this_ to you."

"Why didn't you shoot?" Joseph sat up warily, looking at the lowered weapon before glancing at him.

"I promised her." And he had, a long time ago. He'd promised to live as a man, so long as she was always with him. And he could still hear her voice...

"I hate her. I hate you." Joseph's voice had no malice, and if Erik had been able to see his face, he was sure he would've seen tears. Closure didn't exist, not in this twisted context.

Erik removed the magazine clip and tossed it as far as he could with his good arm. Then he turned away from Joseph.

"I'm sorry, but the boy who killed your father is dead. I can't be the one to kill you."

Joseph looked up as the man began to walk slowly away. How had Erik known, when he hadn't even realized it himself? This had been suicide all along. He wanted to cry, to explain, to tell this monster that he was wrong, but it was all useless. He watched him silently a moment longer, then looked down at the snow. It was melted here and there, melted by hot, red blood.

But there was too much of it. Too much for just his arm. And as Erik fell forward into the snow without a sound escaping his lips, Joseph knew why.

* * *

"Christine Daae?"

The mention of her name in the crowded airport caused her to turn. In front of her was a girl her age, a beautiful blonde girl with the most welcoming smile she'd seen in a very long time. She came forward and took her hand. "I'm Meg Giry. My Mama told me you needed a place to stay while you toured Europe."

"Oh, yes." Christine suddenly remembered what Nadir had said. She was on vacation. She was taking a break from school to explore the world. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

"Yes, Mama has told me so much about you that I'm certain that Madeleine thinks of you as a sister!" She laughed softly, a sound Christine could easily attribute as Antoinette's influence. "Well, come along. We'll get your bags and we can talk more as we head to the dormitory."

"Thank you." That had been the only thing she could think to say to the young lady. Meg was bubbly and sweet and so very attentive as they picked up her things and hailed a cab. She explained the geography of the school's section of England, and even pointed out little shop's they'd visit together, but Christine felt a building dread. She decided it would be a good idea to take some of the aspirin that was in her carry on. If anything, it would stop the tension headache she was developing.

As she opened her bag's side compartment, however, she saw something odd. A neatly folded piece of paper. She pulled it out, sure she knew who it was from.

_Dearest Christine,_

_Be safe. Be happy. Live. Though I migh not by next to you to enjoy life with, I don't want you to feel any absence. Because, no matter what happens now, you're all I'll ever think of. _

_You've made me so happy. All I'd known before were tears and regrets. That's all I felt I could aspire to. But you, Christine, laughed for me, and you smiled at me, despite everything you'd been put through, and that meant more than if you'd spent all of our time crying for me. So I don't want you to be unhappy-- I finally found you! Don't let me regret knowing you, not when everything dark inside me began to change the moment I met you._

_It might be a selfish, stupid request, one that I've no right to ask of you after what I've put you through, but I need you to know. I will see you again, someday. There is not enough power in this existence to prevent it. Please wait for me, at least until you don't love me anymore. Then our promises will be fulfilled._

_Always Yours,_

_E._

_344-055-09213. It's a bank account, under your name. A wedding gift, for my future bride._

She wouldn't let herself regret how this had all turned out. Not for a moment.

"Are you going to be on holiday in England for very long?" Meg asked her.

"Oh, no..." Christine bit her lip. "I'm only going to be here a short while. I want to tour everything. And...I always had this fantasy of singing on the streets of Paris."

As the cab stopped in a small center, Christine was the first to step outside. It was a lovely, active little plaza.

"We'll walk the rest of the way. Cars can't go past here. And it might be nice to stroll around the plaza. It's the weekend and the professors are everywhere..." Meg explained as she paid. Christine, however, was no longer paying attention. In the middle of the plaza, by a water fountain, was a young woman playing her violin. Her case was open, waiting for the tips that might come.

Her playing was fast, furiously macabre. And she found herself drawn. The song escaped before she could think twice on it.

_Wishing you were somehow here again,_

_Wishing you were somehow near..._

And she kept singing. The violinist looked at her, but didn't dare to stop the simple melody that kept her song afloat. And people stopped, and they listened. Meg watched the strange girl with interest.

_Dreaming of you_

_Won't help me to do,_

_All that you dreamed_

_I could!_

Dreams. That was all that would sustain her now. The promise held in the voice they'd cultivated together would not be broken! Students and professors alike stopped to listen and drop money into that little violin case. The violinist had stopped playing, and watched as Christine continued without accompaniement. Christine saw none of them, her eyes shut and focused only on the song. There would be time later to apologize, to feel stupid. Now, she only ached to sing.

_Wishing you were somehow here again!_

_Knowing we must say goodbye..._

_Try to forgive,_

_Teach me to live-_

_Give me the strength _

_to try!_

Her song faded slowly, and she opened her eyes. The strangers surrounded her, some applauding and others wiping a their eyes. Meg placed a hand at her shoulder.

"You should consider becoming a professional, Christine!" She beamed. She pointed to an older woman who had been watching her. "This is Professor Jammes Sorelli. He's the head of the music department. Professor, this is Christine Daae."

The professor cleared her throat and held out her hand with a warm smile. "You have no need of further professional training, I see, but it is still an honor for you to visit the campus."

Christine took Sorelli's hand and smiled weakly. "Thank you. I...had a great tutor."

"You must have, in order to sing like that. Your tutor might have been the very angel of music!" Sorelli was not one to gush over anyone, but this girl truly was exceptional. There had been a moment when the sound of the girl's voice had caused her eyes to water and her heart to move in ways that it hadn't in years. Strangely, she recalled a sunset from years before, and a name she could never forget. _Phillipe._

But the little ingenue was crying now. Not sobbing or getting upset-- the girl was listening to her, smiling--but little liquid crystals slid down her cheek.

"Thank you, Professor Sorelli," she said in a voice unbroken by unahppiness. And just as suddenly as they'd come, they began to dry away. Truly, this odd girl was enchanting.

"Tell me, Miss Daae, have you ever considered finding an opera house to contract yourself with?"

* * *

AN: Sad! This might actually turn out to be a tragedy (I am wired that way, unfortunately). Will you all indulge me, since I updated so quickly, with a review? I'll be ever so happy (and happy is good, right?). 


	41. Who Will be There for You?

_Seal my fate tonight, _

_I hate to have to cut the fun short, _

_but the joke's wearing thin, _

_let the audience in, let my opera begin..._

AN: My thoughts this chapter are best reflected in this quote. Here I hope you see more than what's written in words. And, I hope you'll all leave reviews to inspire the last moments of this story ...it would be terrible to hit writer's block now.

Thanks to all who review and support my endeavors. I don't think you understand quite how inspiring your kindness is.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Haven't I said this time and again?

* * *

Christine hadn't even been allowed to unpack her things in Meg's room before she'd been called upon by Professor Sorelli. That same evening, she'd sung from_ La Traviata _and _Carmen_ to the Professor's content. And each time her voice soared, she knew who it sang for. It sang for a heart left on the other side of the sea, and a man with beautiful crystal eyes. No one else.

_Who will be there for you...?_

"Brava!" Sorelli cheered as Christine finished her aria, and clapped her hands in delight. Truly, the older woman seemed to have turned into a much younger one merely by listening to Christine's voice. She felt...free. Christine gave a little bow to her and the vocals Professor she'd invited to dinner. The old man stroked his fingers through his moustache thoughtfully as he watched her.

"Miss Daae, I wonder where you were taught. It's a remarkable school that can produce such a voice."

"I...had a tutor. And my father was a musician." Christine spoke up reluctantly, and would give no more than that. Sorelli felt the wall that the girl built up around that particular bit of information. And she understood that not everything in a person's heart could be counted as public knowledge.

"Christine, I admit there was more than one reason for inviting you tonight." Sorelli paused to look over at old Professor Martin, who met her gaze and nodded for her to proceed. Christine had his approval.

"Professors?"

"You see, Professor Martin is a visiting scholar. His interests, outside of these guest lectures, lie in theater. And he's written a production--"

"Small one, very small." Martin interrupted, rather bashfully. Christine smiled a little at him. "For a theater in Dover."

"Dover?" She repeated. Christine was unsure of England's geography.

"Well, an important member of the cast had to drop out recently. I was just on my way to place an ad in a casting agency for him when I heard you." Sorelli smiled broadly. "You really saved me some trouble, apearing out of the blue like that."

Martin handed Sorelli music sheets, which she handed to Christine. It was a song, lyrics beautiful and sad. "Will you sing, Christine?"

The realization hit Christine like an ocean wave. "W-wait, do you mean...? But I only just arrived and-"

"Meg mentioned you were touring europe. What better than the English coast? And Dover's only a stone's throw from France..."

"France?" That word interested her, just as much as the possibility of performing onstage. "Paris?"

"Only a short boat and train ride away." Martin piped in, hoping to entice the young lady. A soprano with a mastery of bel canto was a find, but one with the face for a lead role was a steal. She was exactly what he needed. "And if the performance was a success, I'm sure it would open more roles in the future."

She needed no more encouragement than Paris and the lyrics in her hands.

_So laugh, in your loneliness,_

_Child of the wilderness-_

_Learn to be lonely..._

_Learn how to love_

_Life that is lived alone..._

There was no choice. Promises had to be kept.

* * *

"-City General Hospital, receptionist speaking." The nurse spoke as she began looking over directory information. 

"Hello?" She gripped the receiver as she heard the sound of breathing on the other end. breathing and...crying? She couldn't be sure. "Hello, are you ok?" Was this person in trouble? "Do you need emergency-"

"John Doe. In the ER. Is there any change?"

"Ah, do you think you know him? We need you to come and identify him if..."

He didn't hear any more. He disconnected and stared at the cell phone, wondering how this all had happened. How had he found himself here, crouched in the snow in an alley, clutching another man's cell phone?

It was because of a single shot he hadn't even realized he'd fired. It must have happened during the scuffle for the gun. Erik must have been in pain and bleeding when he'd thrown away the gun instead of killed him...this monster who killed Joseph's monster of a father...he'd let Joseph _live_.

And, strangely, Joseph hadn't let him slowly bleed to death in the snow. He'd picked up that murdering bastard and dragged him into his car and left him feet away from the hospital. The innocent passerby had taken care of the rest. But in between, Erik had lost so much blood...

_Everything's gone wrong._ This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be a bastard, and Joseph was finally going to do something about it. And Christine was supposed to be...what? A beautiful, broken little doll for him to rescue. Perhaps even love.

And if he died trying to reach those goals, it would have been fine. Deep down inside him, he'd really considered it suicide. And why? Because there was nothing else for him. Other than this burning, angry fire inside, there was nothing. And he was just tired of it-- hating his past, his father, and this faceless criminal.

Then why was he so afraid now? Why had he outstretched his hands and touched Erik? He held the cell phone tighter, as if it could give him an answer. It had quickly become dark since he'd driven with Erik in the backseat, and now he realized how long he'd been sitting there in contemplation. Too long.

_Brrr. Brrr._ The cell phone in his hands suddenly sprang to life and surprised him so much that he almost dropped it. The display screen flashed the word _Daroga_, and he had to make a decision. He clicked the button.

"Erik!" It was the detective's voice. He sounded frantic. "Erik, has anything happened?"

Buquet, on his end, remained quiet. He could not find his voice at the moment.

"Erik, are you hurt? Please," frustration edged in, as well as fear, "we read your letter, and we understand, but if you're in trouble, don't expect us to simply stand by. We want to help you, you idiot!" The loud sound of a palm slapping a hard surface surprised him. "Well, say something, damn you!"

"I envy him." The sincerity in his newfound voice frightened him. How long had it been since...?

"Who is this?" Immediately the detective's voice became hard. "Buquet? Where is Erik? What have you-"

"He's in ... City General hospital." He managed to speak up in the face of possible wrath.

"If you've hurt him, I swear that-"

"I don't know. I don't know." Tears, when you're out in the cold for so long that you body turns to ice, are wonderful, reassuring warmth. They're life. "But there was so much blood..."

"Why did you do it?' Already he sounded calmer, and Joseph could imagine him grabbing his coat and keys as he spoke.

"It was an accident. I didn't mean to."

"I meant why did you help him?"

"That...that was an accident, too." He was too cold. The warmth was telling him that. "I won't see him again. I'll leave him alone now, no matter what happens."

There was a pause, while Nadir alerted his wife and she picked up the baby and Joseph took a few deep breaths of cold air.

"I'll let him know you're sorry." Nadir finally said.

"I'm ... I'm going to go now." And this was how Joseph Buquet's old self, angry and full of loathing and regret, began to part ways with his real self.

_This is the way the world ends-_

_Not with a bang, but a whimper._

Joseph Buquet finally stood and walked away, though not soundlessly. A child's cries are never muffled.

* * *

The sound of beeping and the smell of anesthetic were the only comforts awaiting Nadir and Antoinette. They had arrived at the hospital after that bizarre phone call with only one thing in mind-- finding Erik. 

Questions followed. John Doe's family. His medical history. His insurance carrier. The couple answered with as much politeness as they could muster in the situation, and gave what little they could. They were rewarded when a nurse escorted them into a room separate from the waiting area. It wasn't a good sign.

A doctor ad come in, and the way he looked, tired and sickly, told them enough. Erik was in serious trouble. Doctor Roberts' voice droned on, and they could catch words. _Bullet wound. Mass hemorrhage. Emergency exploratory surgery. Critical. Nothing more to do._

Then he left them alone to wait, in that isolated room, with that too kind nurse who kept coming in to ask them if they were comfortable. Nadir had never felt so tormented, and Antoinette had never felt so numb. But here they were.

"If Erik..." She couldn't even force the word out. "Should I contact Christine? Her cell phone might still-"

"No." Nadir sat with his head in his hands. "No matter what happens at this point, we have to respect his wishes." He looked at her as she moved to sit beside him, and clasped her hand."We wait," he anticipated her next question. "It's all that's left for us."

They were no longer the guardians of a young boy and his first bumbling into the world. In an instant, they'd become watchers of a man and his struggle against all odds, all for the love of a woman. It was a different world, one which they could no longer intrude into.

* * *

In a separate room, all human sound was muted by ventilators and monitors and the quiet drip of an IV. A broken body laid on the white starched sheets of a hospital Gurney, unaware of the promise threatening to break. 

Erik dreamed. Or perhaps it was a vision. In front of him was a door he'd known so well. He trembled. He wanted to run away but found he could only move forward. He was compelled, against his own will, to open that door. The cool knob turned easily under his touch, and the darkness swallowed him.

It was familiar, this choking black ink, but that didn't make it comfortable. He turned, looking for the door, but it had disappeared in this shadow. And so he was left all alone, the dim glow of a very familiar little lamp was the only thing he could see. But he could hear...crying. A boy's cries.

Erik's eyes needed to adjust to the darkness to be sure, but somehow he already knew. This little boy was too familiar.

_"Mother."_ The boy's one word was recognizable, even through the sobs, and he felt his heart stop.

_No, not this...I don't want to be here. I don't want to see **this**!_ But the sound of the boy's angry tears kept him from trying to find a way out. Erik took a step forward, and peered into the dark. It was too late to help Madeleine. She lay on the floor, her beautiful black hair spreading over her like a blanket. And the boy knelt by her side, terrified of even touching her once more. Instead he cried and beat his fists into the floor. Soon the knuckles would split and bleed. And after that...

"It wasn't...your fault." Erik felt like an intruder as the boy shook his head.

"I touched her." He muttered. "I knew. I shouldn't, wasn't allowed."

"But you wanted to." Erik bent down to see that the little boy had placed the mask over his face once more. "You wanted to hold your mother."

"But it was bad!" Again, his small fist slammed down. Erik watched helplessly as he kept going. "I hate her! I hate _them_!"

"Who?"

"The ones who keep me-- the one who stares, the one who hurts, the one who gossips." The knuckles were split by now, Erik was sure. "They should all go away. Leave me alone."

"Alone?" Erik's hand reached out slowly, and took the boy's injured hand in his. It elicited a cry of surprise, almost fear, from the boy, but he didn't pull away. "You know. You know how it hurts to be alone...there were times you wanted to die, weren't there, just because you couldn't stand being alone?" With a little tug the boy fell into Erik's arms, and he held him gently. Was he crying, too? "You want them gone so you can escape them and this dark room, Erik. But if...you hurt them...you'll be more alone than ever."

"How-" the boy's choked sob cut his words. "How did you know? My name.."

Erik let the boy pull away a little, and he lifted the mask up before the little boy could protest. "Because," he said, without pause, "I've known you for a very long time. I just couldn't...bring myself to really look at you until now."

"Because I'm ugly."

Erik chuckled sadly and shook his head. "No, because I'm a coward." He saw the sadness and the pain of hope in that child's eyes, and he ruffled his hair in a fatherly gesture. And, yes, the face was still deformed, still imperfect...but he had been _clean_ then. This boy was still whole.

"I wish I'd understood." He spoke softly, and felt very, very tired. Had his body been aching all this time?

"I...have to go now." He let his hand fall away from the boy's hair. "Someone's waiting. Somewhere..."

"Who?" There was a desperation in the boy's voice, and he actually held fast to Erik's shirt. And Erik tried to think, when his head was swimming with blurry images.

"I don't know. Can't remember..." And for all of his desire to, he couldn't. All he remembered was how tired he was. And suddenly the boy's head was buried in his shirt, tears leaking into it.

"Don't leave, please!" The muffled sound reminded him of something, but Erik's mind was so sluggish. "Please, don't let me be alone in here."

Erik sighed and put his arms around the child, comforting him like a son, and he thought it wasn't so bad. It felt very warm, and very familiar...

* * *

Somewhere, the heart monitor of one John Doe began to act erratically. Alarms had been set off, and nurses rushed. 

Somewhere else, a young lady with deep brown eyes boarded a train away from the London. She felt the strangest chills as the doors shut and the train began to move away.

Things had to change. They both moved towards inevitability.

* * *

AN: Dear gosh, I need happy...REVIEW! I need puppies and reviews... 


	42. Have You Forgotten?

AN: I really do believe this is the hardest chapter I've had to write for this story, not just because of a little writer's block, but because it's time to say goodbye. This story has taken nearly a year of my life to come together, and I can't imagine letting go quite yet. Forgive me if I feel the need to add a little more to this sad little love song ...

Disclaimer: I wish I did own PotO, but I don't.

REVIEW! It had made me so happy to read your remarks, and know that people have enjoyed my writing.

* * *

Joseph had stumbled on that cold winter night. Without purpose, without plan. He abandoned his car and walked through the pain he felt for miles, no one stopping him. Erik had empathized with him, had turned out to be the better man. What was he now that his well-laid revenge had crumbled into dust? 

And he wept. Tears of an angry, lonely child whose father preferred the bottle to his family. _Bastard_, Joseph realized, _not worth the hell I've put so many through..._ And then he thought of himself. Despicable, dirty, useless. He slumped back against a brick wall and slid down into the snow. More flakes kept falling, coating his shoulders and hair. It was getting worse.

_I am my father's son._ He deserved all of this. He knew he did.

"Are you all right?" Her question caused him to look up wearily. And he saw a young girl about his age, an auburn braid dangling down low enough to almost touch. Her gray eyes looked slightly concerned, and she moved the pink umbrella to cover him a little, too. "You shouldn't be out in the cold like this."

"Go away." He spoke softly, but made sure his anger was evident. But she didn't move, as if she was sure he needed her help. Frustrated, he grit his teeth and forced himself up from the ground. Surprisingly, he felt her free hand reach out to grab his elbow, lending a little support. "I said I'm fine, _Jammes_." At his use of her name she nearly let go, then tightened her grip.

"You're Joseph, aren't you?" Jammes finally put it together. "Carlotta's cried her eyes out for days because of you." She accused him, but still helped him stand all the same.

"Then why are you helping me?" He smirked, forced it through his teeth.

"Because you're in pain." She shrugged, as if it was such a simple thing. "I don't like seeing people hurt when I might be able to do something to help." Then, in complete contradiction to what she'd just said, she slapped his arm with the hand that had helped raise him.

"What–"

"_That_ was for making me deal with Carlotta." She huffed, then grabbed his wrist and proceeded to walk with him in tow. "Now be sensible. We're going to sit down and have a cup of something hot somewhere andwait out the snow storm." She didn't wait for any reply, and he didn't hesitate to follow her under the safety of her umbrella.

He didn't understand it. She wasn't pretty. She wasn't frightening. Jammes was a secondary character, a second thought as he'd studied that stuck up peacock Carlotta. Then why was she the one pulling him out of the snow?

"Did Carlotta really cry for days about me?" He asked, and to his surprise, she paused.

"About two. Now she's dating the star of _Pirates of Penzance_." She shot him a little look. "So don't you dare think you've ruined anyone."

No, this was probably not going to be the start of a beautiful romance. It would, most likely, be a cup of coffee in a little shop filled with short conversation and, from time to time, little glares. But that was something more than he'd expected to have, and for that this plain, redheadJammes looked like the incarnation of Spring. He would see her as beautiful andlively for the rest of his life after this.

_Alive ..._

* * *

_Three weeks later..._

Mrs. Giry and Nadir sat at a corner café, just beyond the hospital. They'd ordered strong coffee, but neither moved to take their cups. Antoinette held her child in her lap, and Nadir strummed his fingers along his knees.

"He's gone." It had been some time since the event, but it was the first time Nadir said it. It surprised them both. She raised her head to look at him as he spoke, a sad smile on her face. "I still can't believe he's gone."

"It was time." Mrs. Giry thought back, to when he'd been a child locked away from the world. Then she remembered him as he'd grown– trapped and resentful. But that had all changed in the end. Christine had returned to him a very vital piece of his soul and he'd _used_ it. He didn't kill that boy. Erik had returned the favor, and delivered him. "It was time for him to let it all go."

"But all alone!" Nadir murmured. "Even when he lived in that apartment, we could see him, try to be by his side." The boy hadn't been his religion, his race, or his blood, but damned if the detective didn't love him. And that very thing had caused the friction in their lives. When Erik was bad, when he failed at living a normal simple life, even then he'd been precious. A treasured friend and son.

"He's not alone," She corrected him, giving him an honest smile. "Wherever _she_ is, I know he's not far behind."

Madeleine garbled in her lap. Words had begun to fascinate her. One in particular. "Erik." She managed to say, earning a laugh from Antoinette. Nadir had to join in with a grin.

"We'll see each other again," he concluded. "I've no doubt. Until then, I'm sure we have a few stories to tell _petite Mado_ about big brother Erik."

Yes, life would have to continue. The world, both understood, was made of meetings and partings. Thatwould always bethe way of it.

* * *

_One year later..._

The warm spotlights were trained on her, as she rose in her prison clothes, summoned to wake by Faust. She was Marguerite, awakened by the call of her love, and her voice rang true.

_Sa main, sa douce main m'attire! (His hand, his sweet hand attracts me!)_

_Je suis libre! Il est là! (I am free! He is here!)_

_Je suis libre! Il est là! (I am free! He is here!)_

_Je l'entends, je le vois! (I hear him, I see him!)_

_Oui, c'est toi, je t'aime, (Yes, it's you; I love you,)_

_oui, c'est toi, je t'aime, (Yes, it's you; I love you,)_

_Les fers, la mort même (The irons, death itself)_

_ne me font plus peur! (No longer make me afraid.)_

_Tu m'as retrouvé; tu m'as retrouvé, (You have found me; you have found me,)_

_Me voilà sauvée, Me voilà sauvée! (See, I am saved; see, I am saved!)_

_C'est toi, je suis sur ton coeur! It's you, I am next to your heart!_

She sang with her entire being. This was her night- this was the moment she'd promised herself and her maestro! Christine rose high above everything she'd done before, and gave everyone around her a momentary vision. The angels encircled her, ready to take her soul to heaven during her invocation. The divine revelation found in the beauty of song-- _that_ was the legacy of their love!

_Erik ..._

Silence, a long second's worth, greeted her as the opera ended. Then, the thunder of a packed house erupted. The audience stood as the cast bowed, clapping and throwing bouquets onto the stage. But Christine studied every one as it fell at her feet. Marigolds. Sunflowers. Mixed bouquets. From time to time, single roses would be tossed, but never in the right color, and never with a black silk ribbon.

Then she saw it. A perfect red bloom mixed in with the rest. And it looked like there was a note tied to it.

_Don't expect it's from..._her heart drowned any rational thought, and she picked it up gently. Hope had dulled her senses, and she stumbled to open it.

_Mademoiselle Christine Daae,_

_Thank you for sharing your gift with us. Good luck on all future endeavors._

_Your Fan,_

_Martin Lebrun_

* * *

The manager of the opera house had thrown it to congratulate her. 

She'd been so sure this time...the red rose that had been thrown to her as the curtain fell had made her so hopeful. But this was such a small theater, with a small release of the night's performance, that it would have been very unlikely to have had any real press at all.

_It's all right, _Christine reminded herself. Time had passed, but her resolve was solid- she would live on as she promised, but she would always carry a secret hope to find him again. And life had not been cruel- she had found friends in this new world, and had pursued her great childhood dream. Really, it was wonderful. Really.

Christine was already outside the theater, and about to hail a cab, when she realized she'd left her purse inside. With a groan, she began to look about and try to find a way in. _Perhaps the back door,_ she thought. It might still be open, and one of the stage hands might let her in. To her dismay she rattled the door to find it locked.

"_Is Mademoiselle in need of something_?" She gasped and turned around in alarm, only to see a human form in the dark.

"Y-yes, I left my bag inside the theater, in my dressing room." She still remembered the last time she'd been in a dark alley with a man, and moved warily to the side. She was surprised to hear a small laugh as the man stepped into the streetlight. He was tall, wearing work trousers and a collared shirt. His face was slightly covered by the brim of his paperboy hat, but judging by his friendly smile, he was around her age.

"_Well, you are very much in luck, Mademoiselle. I have the keys here_." with a little nod he moved past her, and unlocked the door.

"Thank you very much!" She smiled in relief. The dark cap bobbed in assent, and she wondered what color hair might be hiding under it. His voice wasn't musical, but his french was a perfect native speaker's, and she guessed his accent from somewhere like Marseilles.

"_Forgive me if I'm being rude, Mademoiselle, but aren't you the diva?"_ His words caused a quick blush to form.

"I was the lead soprano for the company, if that's what you mean." The door finally opened, and he stepped in before her. "Thank you," she smiled again before walking towards the room. When she heard his footsteps behind her, she turned around. "Are you going to follow me?"

"_I happen to be headed in this direction,_" he spoke playfully, in a tone she did not like. She turned back to walk to her dressing room quickly. "_Why did you say 'was'? They didn't sack you, did they?"_

She sighed. "No, of course not. I just...have my reasons."

"_Are you bored with singing?"_ The young man joked.

"Of course not!" Even if he'd helped her in, he was being awfully nosy. "If you love music, you never grow tired of it."

"_Then, perhaps, you've decided to marry and retire from the stage."_ He noticed her flinch and laughed. "_He will be the envy of every man who has heard you sing._"

Once she'd reached her dressing room, she whirled around. "Thank you for helping me, but I can see myself out." She wanted nothing more than to have him leave before he flustered her further.

He mocked a bow. "_Then, I bid you goodnight, Mam'selle." _Without another word he walked past her and towards the backdrop. She opened the door and locked it, leaning on the door only slightly.

Whether he knew it or not, his words were painful to hear. No, she was not renewing her contract. The offer had been made, but she'd declined it. She'd sung in Paris, and made her little dent in the world, but it had taken time and now...she felt lonely. More than at any other point in time after she'd left Erik. She'd made her dream come true, but it suddenly hadn't been enough for her.

_I miss you._ She understood she would when she'd made her promise, but how could she have known that he'd make her wait so long? But she had no choice- she'd fallen in love with him the way he had with her. She understood now that for her, there would never be another love.

Heaving another sigh, she walked over to the loveseat and picked up her small purse when something caught her eye. A red rose waiting on her vanity. But it was not like the one that had been tossed on stage. This one was a deep red, with a black silk ribbon tied to it. And something glinted on the bow. She took it in her hands and gasped.

The ring tied to the bloom flashed brilliantly in her eyes.

No one else could have left that rose.

* * *

She ran out, searching the corridors with the kind of desperation she'd secretly felt all along. "Erik!" She called out, looking for moving shadows or his beautiful green eyes. Where was he? She held fast to the rose, her only real proof that Erik was still alive and in the opera house! She wanted to cry, could feel the tears beginning to form, but knew it was not the time. Right now she needed to find him. Everything else could wait until after. 

Through the dressing rooms and halls, down to the orchestra pit, and behind the backdrops, Christine wound through all of it in the hopes of finding Erik. And every single time she was disappointed. Erik was nowhere to be found within the walls of the opera house. Her lips trembled with a desire to cry, but she refused. There had to be one more place she hadn't looked, where Erik was sure to go!

_The rooftop!_ It was the only place left, and Christine put all her hope in it. She gathered her long pink skirt about her, and raced up the stairs. _Erik_...would he cry as she probably would? Would he kiss her, or would she have to ask? Had the scent of his clothes changed? It all went through her mind as she ran, and she felt she couldn't breathe as she swung the roof door open to see ...

No one. Snow had stopped falling, but it had blanketed the roof, making it difficult to walk in. In her desperation, Christine did not care. She raced out and looked wildly about her. The statues were her sole companions atop the roof. Christine brought the flower to her lips with both hands. _He was here...he was!_

"Erik!" She shouted the name, looking at the beautifully lit city below. "Where are you!" This was too painful to bear anymore, after this little hope. "Erik...," She sobbed quietly, "is this 'goodbye'?" Maybe he'd only come to give back the ring. Why else would he have left?

She felt cold and for the first time since they'd met, forgotten.

* * *

"_Have you forgotten your angel...?"_

The soft sound of this voice made her shiver, not the cold. Her eyes widened, and she turned away slowly from the city and back towards the door. The stagehand took a few steps from the door, smile still on his face.

"What did you say?" She whispered. He raised his hand to his cap.

"I said," His voice still retained an accent, but it was changing somehow, morphing into another's voice. Slowly, he lifted the cap from his head, freeing his dark hair and letting her see his face, "have you forgotten your angel, Christine Daae?" His green eyes watched her, drinking her in. "Because I've never forgotten you."

She found the strength to take one step forward, then another. Then she ran, dropping the rose in the snow.

There would be time to pick it up later, and put on the ring. There would be time to scold him for his childish game and cry. There was time now, for all promises to be fulfilled, to make up for their loneliness with soft touches and scents. At this moment, though, there was only one thing she could do.

She flew into his open arms.

* * *

AN: ...did you guys really think I'd kill him off just like that? Come now, I've grown far too attached to my Erik. But, if you would be so kind as to review, I'll be the happiest authoress with a happy ending anywhere. Thank you all for reading and going along for the ride with me. It's meant so much to me. 


	43. Once More

AN: For those who wanted it, here it is. A story's epilogue. Thank you, readers and reviewers, for being so wonderful and kind to me and my work. But, before I end the story, a little explanation. You see, I couldn't let this story go because it was, in a way, my own little song for someone. You know who you are. Thank you.

For the last time, reviews make me so very happy.

Disclaimer: The angle is mine, the original story is not.

* * *

Madeleine was found by Antoinette, crying furiously in the garden. She scooped up her _petite_ in her arms and sat down on the chair.

"What is wrong, _ma chere_?" Antoinette asked quietly, drying the tears in the young girl's eyes with a handkerchief. Madeleine sniffled and pointed to the guilt cage hanging by the peach tree. The little door had been opened, and the lark Madeleine had been given must have flown out. "Oh, Mado..."

"It was singing so pretty," the little girl replied, fearing her mother's disappointment. It had been her favorite present from her kind older sister, and had come all the way from Europe. Madeleine might only be five, but she understood it was far away. "I only want to pet it once. We were going to take it with us on the trip, and I thought it might be nice..."

Antoinette could not find it in her to scold her daughter. It had been a fine present, and the child's sentiment hadn't been malicious. "Well, perhaps it'll come round now and then, to sing in the garden. A lark, after all, isn't a pet. It's a songbird, and it's meant to be free." But this was not much consolation for a little girl who didn't know any better, and Antoinette merely held her close and smiled. "There, there, _petite_. Your _soeur_ will not be disappointed at all. I'm sure she'll even be happier knowing the little bird is free to sing where it chooses." And, just then, they heard a certain bird's chirping, and Antoinette laughed and pointed to a branch.

"See there, _Mado_? The song is so much sweeter because it's free." It was true. The notes were more dulcet with every little breath it took. "Now come, we need to meet your father. It'll be a long trip to the airport and I won't have usarrive late."

* * *

Erik watched as the sun only began to dip in the ocean behind his home. The famed fishing boats of Marseilles lined the port a few hundred meters away, but the rest of the coast was beautiful blue. From time to time the call of the gulls sounded like notes, and he wrote down sounds on his music sheets. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be left alone to compose, and he wanted to write down as much as he could before the house would become noisy.

_Honk, honk_. The sounds of a cab just outside jolted him from his reverie. He closed his composition and stood.

_So much for the quiet._ Erik sighed and moved to the front door. Already through the stained glass on the door he saw two fiigures. The third, he was sure, was still not tall enough to be spotted.

"Hello, Mrs. Giry, Daroga," Erik said as he opened the door. He looked down to observe the little girl staring at him in wonder. He smiled. Really smiled.

"A-are you Erik?" Madeleine had heard so many stories about the man, but this was the first time she could remember meeting him. He was handsome. His smile was kind. Remembering her manners, Madeleine curtsied and smiled back. "_Bonjour, frere Erik. Je m'apelle Madeleine._"

Erik laughed and touched the top of her black hair gently. "Has your mother been teaching you French, at such a young age?"

"Oui, and ballet." Madeleine said proudly. "I'm to be a prima ballerina like my sister, Meg."

"That," Nadir said, picking up his daughter and glancing at Antoinette, "has not been written in stone. She could be a world-class investigator, or-"

"With legs like hers..."

"Well," Erik interrupted, watching them with something like a smirk, "it's been a long time. Fine, thank you for asking."

Antoinette was first surprised that he'd made such a joke, then let a smile of delight grace her features. She moved quickly to embrace Erik. "We've missed you, Erik. Both of you."

Nadir set down Mado and she moved to take stock of the house. "Yes, I'll admit home's been very quiet and normal since you left. No one to call me Daroga or scowl at me until I'm ready to pull my hair out." It might have sounded sarcastic, but he clapped a hand on Erik's shoulder all the same. Erik looked at his hand, then up to his eyes. "I've missed you, you idiot boy."

"And I," Erik sighed, trying to keep his voice steady, "truly have missed your nagging ways. Not even Christine has managed to drive me up the wall as you do."

"An unhappy marriage?" Nadir raised an eyebrow. "After such a short few years?"

"Too, happy, I'm afraid." Erik looked serious and solemn. "It's bound to drive us both mad."

"Well, that's no good," smirked Nadir. "You've got to be responsible now-"

"Where is _ma soeur_?" Madeleine asked, rounding the corner back to where the adults stood talking. She'd moved all over the house, but the child hadn't found any trace of her beautiful 'older sister'.

Erik smiled. "It was a beautiful day out, and she wanted to give me a little time to myself. She's out by the shore playing by the waves." His eyes seemed so full of someunnameable emotionas he mentioned her, and Antoinette and Nadirfinally felt the last of a heavy burden lift. "I'll go get her. You both stay and make yourselves at home. It's been a long trip."

"I'll make a pot of tea," Antoinette offered, and shooed him with the wave of her hand. "Go and bring Christine. Madeleine has wanted to see her for so long. Both of them."

Erik somehow beamed moreat Mrs. Giry's words, and without delay ran out to find his wife. Antoinette closed the door behind her husband and took off to the kitchen to prepare tea, leaving Nadir and his daughter alone. Madeleine tugged at her father's sleeve to get his attention.

"What is it, Mado?"

"What am I supposed to call them?"

"What?" Asked Nadir, clearly confused. Madeleine frowned.

"Erik is _ma frere_, and Christine is _ma soeur_. What is the other?"

* * *

He found her not far from the house. She wore a long white dress, the hem flowing with the water and the wind. Her hair was unbound, curls gently kissed by the ocean's spray as the waves came in. Her face was lit by the afternoon sun, and was calm and at peace. She smiled, not noticing Erik as he walked along the shore towards her. All she noticed was the small child whose hands she held.

He squealed in obvious delight and kicked his tiny feet as the waves softly came and went. Christine had long since removed his swaddling clothes, and on this perfect afternoon he played with his mother in the cool water. Her little boy. Hers and Erik's. He was perfect, down to the last little detail. She could never have dreamed for better, and she knew it.

_This, all of it, has been my dream._

"Are you sure you won't both get sick?" Erik's voice made her turn, and she picked the baby upin her arms. He wasn't cross, far from it. He smiled and she noticed he'd taken off his shoes and rolled up his pant legs. She watched him wade towards her.

"He was stifling under his clothes, and just itching to play in the water," she said as she felt him rest his little head on her shoulder, tired. "Though now may be a good time to go home and let him rest. I'm sure the Kahns will be able to wait until he's had a decent nap to see him."

"Don't be so sure of that," Erik smirked. He already imagined Mado's persistent pleas. So much for quiet. But he pulled a curl away from her face, and tucked it behind her ear, letting the hand travel down to touch his son's downy black hair. "He should have had your beautiful hair." Erik murmured.

"Well, I rather like his dark hair and green eyes," she laughed softly, so as not to wake the baby. But she took his hand and pressed a kiss to it, a mischievous smile on her face. Then she brought it down to her small stomach. "Maybe the next one..."

"We'll have to get to work on that little project, then," Erik returned her gaze, and pulled her gently to the shore. His lips touched her and he could taste the sea and the air and her promise to remain by his side, for better or for worse. This, he knew, was Paradise. They had found it together."But right now, I believe I have a house full of people are clamoring for your attention. Will you sing once more, Prima Donna?"

Christine sighed and pulled him in another direction. "In a while, Erik. Now, take a walk with your family." He walked without much encouragement, looking from Christine to the baby and back again.

"You know, I was thinking about writing an opera."

"Really, Erik?" She was excited. He'd been slaving away at the instrument for a month now, and would seem worlds away sometimes. Was this what had captivated him? The waves fell, barely touching them as they walked the white sand of the shore.

"Yes. Do you remember Lucifer?" He squeezed her hand gently, and watched her kiss their son's forehead with tenderness.

"You mean from _Paradise Lost_?" She mused absently, stroking her long fingers over the child's soft back as it slept.

"I think I'm going to write about a man like that. A man who fell into a dark pit and wanted to reach for the light. Who fell in love with a beautiful chorus girl, and finally found his redemption." He laughed as he caught her curious look.

"And why, I wonder, does that sound so familiar?" She smiled over the top of that small bundle's head. It was a knowing, adoring look that he'd savor for the rest of his life.

"I think it may just be our lovesong."

_FIN_

* * *

_The world was all before them, where to choose_

_their place of rest, and Providence their guide._

_They hand in hand with wand'ring steps and slow_

_Through Eden took their solitary way._

–Milton, _Paradise Lost_

* * *

AN: Thank you all a thousand times over for letting me entertain you (at least, that's what I hope I did). The pieces have come together, and now I fade into black. Will you review this story once more, though?


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